Bad Moon Rising
by TheWritingGirl23
Summary: When the Dark Lord calls upon the very forces of Hell to aid in his war, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix face a threat the Wizarding world hasn't faced in millennia. They need help, and this just so happens to come in the form of an ex-marine hunter and his two teenage sons, who are about to be thrown into a whole new world of insanity.
1. Prologue

It was hot, dark, and oppressive this night. It was also dead quiet out here on the moors, except for the nervous shuffle of many feet and nervous puffs of breath.

Lord Voldemort could not have chosen a better night.

He breathed deeply, relishing the feeling of possessing his own body and senses, rather than relying on another, or on a feeble form such as his last. This new body was hardly two months old yet, but already he could feel the strength of his magic and will flowing through every vein and muscle. And soon enough, like this body, his power would spread throughout the wizarding world.

His red eyes snapped open as his mind alighted upon the one factor that yet stood in his way to eventual seizure of the magical realm, and what had already altered his plans at their very beginning. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

That night in the cemetery, Voldemort had underestimated him, just as he had erred all those years ago. The boy had escaped, and had no doubt alerted Dumbledore to everything. Thankfully, the incompetent Ministry were not acknowledging whatever Dumbledore might have told them. It gave the Dark Lord time to adjust and come up with a plan to deal with the boy permanently. This time, he wouldn't underestimate him.

That was why he and his steadily returning Death Eaters were here after all, out in these bleak lands in the dead of night. It had taken long digging through ancient texts buried deep within vaults and abandoned libraries, the search taking him down to the very roots of wizarding history itself, but he finally had it. The knowledge, means, and potential allies to wipe Harry Potter from the annals of history and ensure his victory.

The Dark Lord glided forward, away from his large semi-circle of followers, his bare feet brushing first over grass before they scraped over warm gravel. He did not stop until he stood at the very center of the isolated, long-since-forgotten crossroad.

"Malfoy," he called, raising his arm and turning his head to look as he summoned the pureblood patriarch. The pale man hesitated for the briefest moment from where he stood beside his shrinking wife, before he came forward as ordered. In his wiry hands he held a small, ornate chest, pre-prepared by Voldemort himself.

Voldemort drew his wand, caressing it lovingly as he stared with distaste at the chest his servant held. Ancient, unsophisticated magic permeated the contents and the ritual surrounding that box, the whole thing stinking of primitiveness and the dark age of wizardry, but it was powerful magic nonetheless, and it was the only thing that could call up the power he sought.

His wand swept through the stagnant air in a graceful arc, drawing up a large cloud of gravel and dirt in its wake. A hole just large enough to accommodate the chest was left at his feet. A second wave and the box levitated from Malfoy's hands and down into the hole, which was promptly covered.

Utter silence fell upon the dark-robed gathering. It hardly seemed as though the Death Eaters were breathing at all. Only Malfoy's hurried footsteps broke the silence as he scrambled back to his wife. Narcissa clutched at his arm as he returned.

For several moments, there was nothing.

"Well, well, well. Isn't this a marvelous surprise?"

Almost every head spun rapidly toward the smooth voice. Lord Voldemort turned slowly. He was not entirely sure what he had expected, but this was certainly not it.

A tall, long-legged woman stood at the edge of the crossroad, pale visage almost glowing under the light of the moon. A dark blue dress of shiny material wrapped around her torso, leaving skin and cleavage available to appreciative eyes. Short, cornsilk hair hugged her cheekbones, and dark blue eyes blinked lazily at her tense audience. By her attire, she seemed very muggle, but her sudden appearance and a bitter smell that hadn't been present before suggested very much otherwise.

The Dark Lord stepped closer, and the woman shifted all attention to him.

"Are you the one to respond to my summons?" he asked as he took this creature in. He was…underwhelmed. The delicate frame of the slight woman, dressed in muggle clothing no less, did not at all live up to what he had read of these creatures, if that was indeed what she was.

In response, the woman's blood-red lips curled upward in a very toothy grin. "The one and only, darling," she purred, accented voice growing deeper as she sauntered toward him. For a brief moment, her eyes flashed red. "And don't mind the outfit. It's a habit, really. Makes negotiations easier most of the time. Although," she said with pursed lips as she stopped some feet away, "I have a feeling that it won't factor into tonight's dealings. Still, a girl likes to look her best." She flashed another white smile, a hand trailing over her hip.

The Dark Lord had no time for this creature's ramblings; he had summoned her for one purpose only, and he wasn't out here to waste time. "Your purpose is to grant me any request I ask of you?" His tone was cold and clear.

That predatory smile didn't falter for one second. She moved even closer, so close that when she stopped she was almost flush against the dark wizard. Several Death Eaters were silently gaping amongst the ranks, but they didn't dare speak up against this disrespect.

"Any wish or desire that black, twisted little heart of yours can conjure is my command." She paused, tongue clicking against pearly teeth. "For the right price, of course." Her eyebrow twitched upward, and the grin widened, if that was possible.

Voldemort stared stonily down at the crossroads dealer, even as she shot him a wink. The Dark Lord was no fool. He knew what she wanted in return for her favors. So he had a plan, one that involved a sacrifice that was risky, but would no doubt bring rewards tenfold. He would just need to seal this deal quickly.

"As you ask, I shall pay. In return, I want the allegiance of your kind as I claim domination of the wizarding world. And I want the boy Harry Potter eliminated," he hissed.

The Cheshire grin of the dealer became close-lipped, and her eyebrow cocked up again. She shifted backward, letting out a slight chuckle.

"Ah, I do so love your type. The 'go hard or go home' variety, if you understand. I will most certainly be glad to grant you everything you ask, but… well, large askings for such a small price. As it stands now, this is a deal I can't accept." She waved a long hand against the poorly stifled gasps of shock and indignation that rose from the audience. "However, that's nothing a little bit of negotiation can't fix. I suggest sending your entourage on a little walk while the adults have a chat."

Such a dismissal would have been met with fury and threats from the Death Eaters had their lord not immediately waved them away as protests began to rise. One by one, the cracking noises of apparition split the air until only two were left at the crossroads.

The moment they were alone, the dealer turned to the wizard with a light laugh. "Really, Tom. I have seen your work, and it is truly admirable for one of the living. Or, almost-living, I suppose. I expected more of you. Did you honestly think I couldn't tell from the moment you summoned me that you had something of a…split personality?" she asked with a simper, crossing her arms in a chiding manner. Her eyes flashed red again.

Lord Voldemort's hand tightened around his wand. Despite his urge to curse the filthy creature to oblivion for using his former name in so blithe a way, he wasn't about to give up. This was a power play he wasn't going to sacrifice easily, and if it meant putting up with the insolent thing, so be it. Deep down where the wizard refused to acknowledge it, a small part of him might have felt wariness as well. The dealer knew his most closely kept secret, and his ultimate defense against defeat and death. Who knew what she might do with that knowledge if crossed too severely.

A cold hand grasped the fist that clenched so tightly on the wand, and he could have struck her for that, if not for the fact that he couldn't move his arm at all. It seemed like his hand had been caught in a steel trap, and the sheer strength holding him still gave the Dark Lord the smallest second of fear.

"There, there. No need to be testy," she cooed, a razor's edge tingeing her voice. Dark eyes stared unwaveringly into his own. "I know what you must be thinking, but I'm not your enemy. I'm just here to do my job." She released him, turning away and pacing to the edge of the road as she continued to talk.

"Now, let's get one thing straight. I like you, Tom." She cast him a sultry grin over her shoulder. "I like your type and the work you do; it's marvelous entertainment. But I have a quota to fill, and my overseer is not going to be very pleased if he finds out I let you off with a discount price. As I said, one small fragment of a soul isn't going to be enough to cover your bill. However," she said, turning to him again, "there are alternative options of payment, some of which I imagine you'll find quite fair."

Voldemort paused. The deal was still within reach. Giving up one horcrux as payment was something he'd been willing to sacrifice, but more than that would have been too much of a risk. But now, there were new game pieces on the board. He might just come out on top after all.

"And what exactly are the natures of those options?"

She smiled again, oh so brightly. "That's the spirit. First we'll discuss, and then hopefully we can finish off the night with a kiss to seal the deal. What do you say?"

Her eyes gleamed.

* * *

**A/N: So, some of you might remember a fic by Raye Black called 'A Demon, Muggle, and a Wizard Walk into a Bar'. When I read it, I really liked the set-up, but unfortunately, the story's been on hiatus for nearly four years, so I don't see much hope of seeing it finished. So I decided to jump off the diving board of this premise myself, as a way of paying homage to Raye Black and of seeing this thing through. Credit for some ideas in this thing will go straight to her/him, but beyond the premise I'm going to try to make this its own thing. **

**Chapters following this prologue will start coming out after I'm through with finals. This is just going to be a fun read, nothing too insane or long (a summer popcorn fic – heh heh), so hopefully updates will be fairly quick. For whoever decides to read along, welcome to all and I hope you enjoy :)**


	2. Chapter 1

**Some preliminary notes, first about myself, then about the story, and then about you readers.**

**I doubt anyone here knows me since this is my first time writing for either of these fandoms, but I'll warn you now that I'm notorious for inconsistent updates. I try my hardest to update promptly, but hell if I can stick to a schedule. I'll do my best, but you guys might have to give me a nudge now and then to get my ass in gear.**

**Second, as this is just a summer story and something to have fun with, shoot me a review or PM if there's something you want to see. I can't promise it'll happen since I have a rough storyline already, but I love hearing ideas. And of course, even if you don't have an idea, review anyway to let me know what you think.**

**Lastly, I would like to thank musicalgryffindor, Wanderstar, and AnimeLove24-7 for their reviews, as well as everyone who has followed or favorite-d this story. I look forward to entertaining you guys. **

**And now, without further ado, on with the story.**

* * *

Chapter 1

_Greenfield, Illinois_

Rain slammed against the grimy window, just barely drowning out the persistent rattle coming from somewhere in the vents. The damp weather also seemed to be having some effect on the potency of the sour smell coming from the carpet.

Sam Winchester scrubbed a frustrated hand through his floppy hair, trying for possibly the tenth time to concentrate on the words of the book in front of him. He could predict ahead of time that his attention was going to wander again sometime in the next five minutes. Truth was, Sam was so bored he expected his brains to start leaking out of his ears any second now, but the latest dingy, no-tell-motel didn't offer much in the way of entertainment. Well, besides Magic Fingers and about three channels on the TV, but those options were either hardly worth the effort or more Dean's thing, and therefore gross.

Speaking of Dean, the sound of the rain was at last championed in volume by the familiar rumble of a powerful engine that cut off a moment later. A shadow blew past the window a few seconds before the door banged open, bouncing off the doorjamb and swinging back around to smack the entering figure of Sam's big brother.

"OW, son of a bitch!" Dean growled, hustling inside and knocking the door shut with his hip. His arms were currently burdened with several bags of fast food. Setting their dinner down on the rickety table by the window, the eighteen-year-old proceeded to shake the water off of himself like a big, spiky-haired dog. Sam leaned away from where he sat on his bed, face scrunched up.

"Couldn'ta done that outside?" he asked, wiping droplets off of his face.

"Oh yeah, 'cause that woulda worked," Dean snorted, no doubt rolling his eyes enough to strain. As if to emphasize his point, a loud clap of thunder caused the windows to jitter in their frames and the lights to flicker. "And I thought you were the brains of this family."

"_I_ never said that," Sam grumbled as he hopped of the bed. The boredom might not be going away, but he could sure kill the squirming hunger in his stomach.

"It's just the natural order," Dean said with a smirk, digging his burger out of the bag. "Dad's the brawn, you're the brains, and I'm the handsome, charismatic one." The smirk only widened when Sam scoffed, remaining fixed until he took a large bite out of his food. They munched in silence for a few minutes until Dean spoke again. "So, Dad's not back," he stated rather unnecessarily around a full mouth.

Sam scoffed again, but he sounded less amused this time. "'Course not. You know the old man; head out at dawn, stay out 'til way after midnight. He only seems to pop in long enough to assign us new jobs."

Dean shrugged. "Harder Dad works, the sooner we gank this thing. And the sooner we get out of this freakin' town too. It's July and it's been raining the whole time we've been here. I'm gonna sprout gills any day now."

Sam paused, forkful of salad halfway to his mouth. "Oh, uh, by the way, how much money we got left?"

Dean blinked as he began rifling in his pocket for his wallet. He grimaced. "Uh, how long did we book the room for?" he asked as he perused the contents.

"A week."

"And we've been here how long?"

"Six days."

"Aw, shit." Dean threw the wallet down in frustration. "Now I gotta go out again, hustle up some money somehow. You know Dad's not gonna have enough, what with how he's been working this case."

Yeah, Sam did know. Now that he and Dean were older, Dad had somehow found ways to make them even more self-reliant than they already were. They were expected to contribute in paying for their motel rooms and food, and they pulled a lot more weight in the research and fieldwork departments. Even when Dad worked a local job, they didn't see him for a majority of the time, up until it was time to take out whatever supernatural terror had decided to roost in the area.

Dean was pulling on his jacket again, stuffing the last chunk of burger into his mouth. "C'mon Sammy, I'm not going to be the only miserable sucker trucking it through the rain."

"Just so long as I get out of this motel room." Sam hopped out of his chair and went for his own jacket.

"They got Magic Fingers," Dean said, pointing to the closet.

"Dude, just…no." Sam made sure to toss him the extra-squicked face just to make sure it got through his brother's thick head.

Dean gave him a punch to the shoulder before he passed Sam to pull open the door. "Prude. And don't be making that bitchface at me; you're giving off the vibes."

"Shuddup," Sam said as he pulled the door shut, already formulating a protest as Dean debated between using fake IDs to hustle some bar pool or using Sammy's baby face to wheedle 'charity' dollars out of cheek-pinching old ladies.

The duo of brothers swung back and forth across the tiny town, managing to hit the local bar and a couple of street corners, where Sam was forced to stand out in the rain and look as pathetic as possible, before the sky turned black.

With the Impala parked just off the road, Sam used his jacket to dry at least some of the moisture out of his hair while Dean rifled through their hard-won earnings for the night. Classic rock floated from the radio.

Having decided his hair was as good as it would get, Sam leaned against the window and watched the rain fall. Moments like these were the most relaxed he ever felt. Life was usually a toss-up between the constant need to appear normal at school, the tense-to-terrifying hunting process, and the feeling of being crushed under the weight of his overbearing father's expectations. It was only when he could kick back in the only home he'd ever known with his brother, with the music he'd long since gotten sick of but would admit these moments would be incomplete without playing in the background that Sam felt fairly alright with the world.

"Dude, we made a killing," Dean laughed, flipping through the stack of bills. "Sucks that we're just gonna tank it on a shitty motel room."

Sam felt a twinge of resentment behind his sternum as he glanced over to the driver's side. "Yeah, well, what are we gonna do? It's not like Dad needs to contribute anything." His teeth clicked as he shut his mouth abruptly. Shit, there he went again. He meant every word, but he didn't normally set out to be the person to march a good mood out into the woods and shoot it dead.

The sound of rustling paper vanished as Dean shot him a sharp look. Sam shifted, turning to look out the window again, just hoping the ill-timed comment would be dropped.

"Dad's out there saving people, Sam. He might not be here all the time, but he knows we can fend for ourselves, and he's there when we really need him."

Sam replied with a non-committal grunt, and thankfully Dean let it go. In his head though, Sam almost wanted to say that sure, Dad might always be there to keep them from getting shredded by some pissed off ghost or monster, but Sam wished he could also be there when they got sick, or when Sam brought home a test he'd aced, or on the few occasions where Dean was invited out to a party or the movies but had to decline because he had to watch out for Sam.

But, that was just the Winchester life, he supposed. Always on the move, watching your back, and never getting closer to the thing that had started it all by ending Mom. In what Sam would tentatively call a surreal flash forward, he could see his whole life playing out in this pattern, and it freaked the hell out of him.

No, one day he'd get out. No matter what Dad said, Sam didn't plan to stick with this life. He just needed to wait until he was older, and that constituted just staying alive for the next four years. He'd made it this far, and he should be able to hold out just fine. Of course, the universe seemed to like throwing huge curveballs at their family, and judging by those he'd seen so far, Sam wasn't looking forward to another one. He could only cross his fingers and hope it wasn't something too insane.

* * *

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

It was almost surreal to one Harry Potter how, no matter the earth-shifting events that could occur during the school year and his time spent in the magical world, life on Privet Drive remained almost completely unchanging. He had been back with the Dursleys for only a few weeks, and the reality of Lord Voldemort's return was truly beginning to sink in, but still the normal little neighborhood went about business as usual. The neighbors washed identical cars and tended their gardens, Dudley explored new forms of delinquency with his gang, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did their level best to ignore Harry's existence.

This summer that disregard was more appreciated than anything. It gave Harry time to think, and time to come to terms with what had happened during the rigged Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament by adjusting to the new set of nightmares and to the bone-chilling fact that Lord Voldemort had truly made his return.

At the beginning, Harry had been almost positive that within the week something terrible would happen, heralding the dark wizard's second bid for power. It took Uncle Vernon reaching a whole new shade of purple and level of neck vein bulging to drive the teenager away from the television, where he had watched the news with unshakable attention.

But there had been nothing. The biggest news to date had been the progress of the heat wave sweeping over southern England. The lack of _anything _when he had expected chaos had Harry off balance in a way he hadn't expected, being left stuck at Privet Drive as though everything was business as usual. He had tried writing to his friends and Sirius, but he had only received vague replies and non-answers. He was holding out hope that maybe he would receive more information on his birthday, which was only two days away, but Harry had to admit it was a slim chance with the kind of responses he'd received so far. It was frustrating to no end, but he couldn't exactly do anything about it.

So Harry let the long summer days drag by, moving agonizingly slowly, just waiting for night to fall so he could tick off another day on his calendar, getting that much closer to his return to Hogwarts. Even a wizarding world with the threat of Voldemort hanging over it was better than being stuck here and ostracized by his relatives.

Currently, Harry was perched on the edge of his bed, leafing through some of his magical books just for something to do. It wasn't doing much for him, but internally he was just grateful that he was allowed to keep his things in his room, rather than having them locked in the cupboard like they used to be. Still, he thought it might be better to get outside and get some air before the sun went down. Despite the heat, wandering the neighborhood and spending time in the nearby play park had become Harry's most frequent pastimes. Movement helped clear his head, and he could stay out of the Dursleys way most of the time. The book slapped shut and the door slid closed as Harry slipped out of his room.

Uncle Vernon sat on the couch, focused intently on the television, Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen preparing a rigidly healthy dinner, and Dudley was no doubt out in the neighborhood somewhere shaking pocket change out of some poor young sod out for an evening stroll. Both his aunt and uncle studiously ignored Harry as he passed them by in the hallway on his way out the door.

The hot air hit Harry like a solid slap in the face. He cringed for a moment, before trudging his way down Privet Drive, ratty shoes scuffing the heated pavement.

_"__When I get back, I should send Hedwig out with more letters. A little extra persuasion couldn't hurt." _It wasn't typically in Harry's nature to be a bother, but by now he was well-known for his stubborn persistence in the face of adversity. He wasn't about to let his exclusion continue in peace. He felt slightly guilty for what would essentially be guilt-tripping his friends by using his birthday as an excuse, but as of now he wasn't much inclined to leave it be.

"Harry!" cried an unexpected, cheery voice.

The boy's head snapped up and around, his gaze alighting on a bony figure that was obscured from the waist up by grocery bags coming up behind him. Even unable to see a face, Harry could tell by the pale green house slippers and the faint smell of cat litter that Mrs. Figg was approaching. Despite a certain appreciation he had for the woman, as she was probably the only kindness he had ever known on Privet Drive, he couldn't repress a sense of dread that he would be invited to tea once more. He was running out of polite excuses.

A distressed squawk emitted from behind the barricade of groceries, and Harry could see the small tower beginning to wobble precariously. Putting the tea out of his mind, Harry rushed back just in time to catch the bag containing the eggs and dairy products. The rest tumbled to the ground, leaving a fluttering Mrs. Figg attempting to bend over and restore order.

"I'll get that," Harry offered.

"Oh goodness, thank you, Harry. Such a kind boy. I must have been daft choosing to walk for my groceries." Despite his offer of help, the elderly woman knelt down creakily.

Harry was just reaching out for a rogue onion when he felt a gnarly hand clench hard on his shoulder just as Mrs. Figg rasped in a voice that held a shocking note of fear. "Harry, you must go home. You are in grave danger."

"What?" His head jerked up, wide green eyes staring at the old woman with confusion. What was she on about?

"Shh, someone might be watching!" she hissed, eyes darting about the deserted street. "There's no time to explain properly, but Dumbledore sent me."

"Dumbledore?!" Harry was semi-aware that he was gaping in a fish-like way, but he couldn't help it. How was it his batty old neighbor that he'd known for as long as he could remember know about Dumbledore?

"Like I said, no time. He's just sent a warning. You-Know-Who has done something, something terrible, and Dumbledore believes that you are currently in great danger. He doesn't know from what, but he wants you to get home where you'll be safe. Stay there until you hear word from our folk, do you understand?"

Harry hesitated for only a moment, but it was apparently too long for Mrs. Figg. She gave him an insistent push back in the direction of Privet Drive. "Go now!" she snapped.

The barely restrained fear in her voice finally broke Harry from his culture-shocked daze. Staggering up, he turned around and hurried back the way he'd come. His world had sent him for another flip, but he didn't have time to process it now. If Harry Potter was an expert at anything, it was taking action in a crisis, and his instincts were telling him Mrs. Figg was dead-serious, so he had best listen to her advice.

The sun was disappearing over the horizon, throwing long shadows over the ground that seemed to chase Harry as he tried to resist sprinting back to number four. Mrs. Figg's tone, her words, and the urgency in her voice jolted on his nerves and sent shivers down his spine. His waiting was finally over; Voldemort had made some kind of move. The thing was, he had no idea what to expect or how to prepare himself. As he rushed up the Dursleys' drive, Harry internally kicked himself, knowing he should have been careful of what he wished for.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, boy?!" Vernon bellowed as Harry slammed through the door much more loudly than he had expected.

"Nothing, just out for a run," Harry called, making sure he locked the door behind him. Against dark wizards, he highly doubted a simple lock would do much good, but why make it that much easier for them? Truthfully, he doubted the Dursley home would withstand any kind of attack for more than a few minutes, but Dumbledore said he would be safe here. Even with no word from him so far, Harry trusted the headmaster.

Harry remained frozen in the front hallway, staring at the door. The last hour had turned on a dime, going from bored and rearing for information to waiting for the shoe to drop, all before Aunt Petunia had finished dinner. What made it even worse was that Harry didn't know what to expect. With Voldemort, it could be anything from an invasion of blood-thirsty Death Eaters to a basilisk bursting up through the plumbing.

_"__How do they expect me to just sit and wait for word, as if I was just waiting for a package?"_

That sense of foreboding hanging over him like a massive thunderhead just waiting to spit rain and lightning, Harry shuffled back into the living area. His aunt and uncle were staring daggers at him, but Harry just settled quietly in a corner chair, remaining silent and still. Vernon and Petunia soon returned to their own activities, only occasionally throwing him a warning glare. Harry ignored them, instead staring at the cuckoo clock mounted on the wall as it ticked away the minutes. The light outside steadily faded as the dusk grew deeper.

At a quarter past nine, Harry's keen ears picked up a faint rustling upstairs, sounding too loud to be just Hedwig fidgeting in her cage. Getting up slowly, he departed the room and headed upstairs under cover of Aunt Petunia fretting about Dudley and how he had yet to return from the Polkiss' house.

Perched on his dresser was a large barn owl, feathers gleaming faintly in the dim light of the room. Harry's eyes went immediately to the letter attached to its leg. The owl gave an indignant screech at his less-than-careful removal of the piece of parchment, but the teen paid it no mind. The letter was from Sirius.

_Harry,_

_I'm sorry this letter must be kept brief, but it's still too dangerous to say much. If Dumbledore's contact has not yet reached you, you must know that you're in danger._

Harry had to take a brief moment to shove a spark of frustration aside. He was tired of vagueness and skirting the issue. "_Just tell me straight what the bloody hell is going on, Sirius."_

_Obviously it has something to do with the Dark Lord. Even Dumbledore's not entirely sure what's happened, all he knows is that there has been a sudden and massive upsurge in the presence of dark magic all throughout Britain. He also believes something is coming for you. You should know that your home is warded, so you should be safe as long as you remain indoors. Don't worry, we'll be coming for you as soon as we can. Just sit tight and STAY INDOORS, Harry. I don't doubt your ability, but no one is sure of what's happening. So please, just stay safe._

_Snuffles_

"Damn it!" The letter was thrown to the ground. He wasn't sure if Sirius was still withholding information or honestly had no idea of what was going on, but either way Harry was still blind to the sudden situation.

A great thud and a panicked babble of voices had Harry rocketing from his seat on his bed. Hedwig and Sirius's owl both shrieked, Harry desperately trying to shush them. The rush of adrenaline was stymied slightly when he recognized Dudley's voice, but it sounded breathless…and terrified.

Harry drifted out to the top of the stairs, listening and watching as a badly stuttering Dudley tried to explain to his hysterical parents why he had practically ran straight through the front door in a panic. The blond boy's face was tomato red and shiny with sweat, indicating that Dudley had run home. That in itself was a bad sign. The wide eyes with constricted pupils and the tremble in his cousin's voice that showed he was close to tears were just the icing on the cake.

"Duddykins, what happened?!" Petunia pleaded, cradling her giant son as he struggled to breathe. Harry craned over the banister, desperate to hear every word.

"Th-th-there's s-something out there," Dudley whimpered. "I-I was walking back, and I j-just felt it. It was _watching me_! I don't know what it was, but it was there!"

"Did you see it?" Harry couldn't help but ask, taking a few steps down the stairs.

Vernon whirled on Harry, teeth bared. "None of your business, boy!" Petunia chimed in, screeching at Harry about how he dared ask such a question when her son was in such a state. But Harry could feel a cold knot growing bigger in his stomach. Whatever the danger was, he had no doubt that it had arrived.

"Dudley, did you see anything?" he pressed again. He needed to know.

His cousin shook his head, but his gaze was still petrified. "N-no. But I heard it. It…it growled at me."

Harry blinked. That was not something he would expect from an attacking Death Eater. Would Voldemort dare to send a creature where it could so easily be spotted by a muggle? Sure, Voldemort despised muggles, but even he seemed to conform to some level of secrecy.

Without warning, the house went dark. Petunia barely had time to shriek before the lights came back on. And then flickered off again.

"Vernon, what's going on?" Petunia cried in fear, the family beginning to back down the hallway toward the living room as the lights practically became strobes.

_"__It's attacking," _Harry thought as he pelted down the stairs after his relatives. _"But the house is warded. It can't get in. Can it?" _Harry couldn't help a stab of icy doubt as a giant creaking noise echoed through the house, loud enough that he expected the structure to split in two.

Harry barreled down the hallway, joining the Dursleys as all four residents huddled together in the living room. The lights flashed non-stop, and another massive groan shook the house, as if the whole frame was about to topple over.

Then the worst noise began. A vicious pounding, slamming, and a screech of sharp points against metal and wood began at every door, like something was trying to claw its way into the house. Dudley howled, covering his ears and adding to the horrifying cacophony with his sobs.

Harry's throat had gone dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Unconsciously, his wand had been drawn from his pocket and had been brandished, but no spells of protection came to mind. This…this wasn't what he had expected. Somehow, this didn't seem like Voldemort. It was like the magic within him could sense something filthy, ancient, and terrifying surrounding the house, and it was a far worse presence than the Dark Lord had ever exuded, even at his strongest. Even with all his experience and courage, against this darkness, Harry suddenly felt small and very, very weak.

Petunia wailed again, both she and Dudley now cowering to the floor with Vernon's bulk covering them. The house shook again, a sudden wind shrieking like a banshee outside, and Harry wheeled all around. How could he fight what didn't even seem to be there?

Then, suddenly, all grew still and silent. Nothing could be heard or seen, aside from the Dursleys' whimpers. Harry held his breath. There was no way he could be that lucky, so he waited.

It took several agonizingly slow seconds before he heard it: the deep, earth-shaking snarl of something that was definitely not human. Harry spun, facing the window that opened on the backyard. The growl seemed to be coming from just outside in the blackness, but he could see nothing.

_"__It can't get in, it can't get in," _Harry chanted over and over in his head. Another wave of revulsion coursed through him. He may not be able to see it, but it no doubt could see him, and Harry just knew the creature was staring directly at him.

Harry didn't believe his mentally chanted words for even a second.

"W-what have you brought down on us?" he heard Uncle Vernon wheeze from the floor. There was no rage or even accusation; just plain, undiluted terror.

Harry gulped. He could still see nothing. "I don't know," he whispered.

It was all he could say or do before the glass imploded inward, the rabid snarl cresting the explosion like foam on a wave, the sound shredding the air like ragged claws. Just as Harry felt actual, dagger-like talons rip his shirt and dig into his chest, a hot and crushing weight carrying him to the ground, all he could think was that he still couldn't see anything.

His wand skittered across the floor, useless without its master, as a ghostly howl tore unheard through the air of Privet Drive.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Greenfield, Illinois_

Rain continued to pour from the black sky, as it had for quite a few days now. John Winchester couldn't say he was a great fan of a downpour while working a job, but, being a Vietnam veteran, he had faced far worse conditions before. There were also advantages to the weather; after all, not many people would be out in a storm at one in the morning. It also provided excellent cover.

Sheltered under the awning of a closed coffee shop, he punched numbers into his large black mobile and waited. No doubt the boys were asleep by now, but this wasn't the first time he'd had to get them up at such an hour for a literal graveyard shift.

It rang for only a few moments before Dean's groggy voice grated through the phone's speaker. "Dad?"

"Dean, I think I've got the location of the ghost's body. If we take care of this tonight, we'll be able to head out first thing tomorrow. Get Sam up."

His eldest's cavernous yawn immediately cut off. "Got it." The sound of covers being thrown back rustled over the line, and John could faintly hear Dean shaking Sam awake. "We'll be out of here in five minutes, Dad. Where are you?"

"Main Street, by the coffee house."

Dean was true to his word. John had to wait at most ten minutes before the familiar shape of Impala turned onto Main Street, gliding towards him and looking as sleek as an arrow under the shimmering street lights.

John let himself in on the passenger side, content to let Dean drive what should be only a short distance to where he expected the body of their current ghostly target to be. He glanced briefly into the backseat, halfway miffed and halfway affectionate at Sammy's drooping eyelids and exhausted appearance. It was hardly a fit state in which to face down a vengeful spirit, but the kid looked so incredibly puppy-like that John couldn't bring himself to say anything about it.

He turned to Dean, who, unlike Sam, looked as though he was raring to go. "Head down Main Street until we're almost out of town. There should be a patch of woods with a dirt road turnoff."

The car cruised smoothly down the road, fat droplets splattering against the windshield, the occupants of the vehicle silent as the buildings outside gave way to fewer, more isolated houses and empty land patched with small woods.

"Turn here." John pointed toward a barely-there dirt roadway turning off into the biggest clump of trees they had passed so far. Dean nodded, turning the car and making the transition from asphalt to uneven earth in a fairly jarring bump. Sammy bolted upright in the back, a sleepy mewl escaping him even as he tried to pretend he hadn't fallen asleep.

The night had been plenty dark already, considering the thick storm clouds and very late hour, but once the Impala was under the trees, nothing beyond the range of the headlights could be seen. Thick branches overloaded with sodden leaves swayed and rattled, sweeping over the road and causing eerie shadows in the beams of light.

"Gonna be one of those nights, huh?" Dean said with a faint smirk, peering into the gloom.

John couldn't help a faint twitch of a smile. Dean really was growing into a fine hunter. Kids his age normally wouldn't dare venturing out into conditions like these without a healthy dose of terror, but his son had been fighting supernatural forces since he was thirteen and his fear had long since vanished. He suspected it wouldn't be long before Dean and probably Sam as well surpassed their old man in skill. Still, it never hurt to remind them of caution.

"Don't lose focus, Dean. We may have handled plenty of salt-and-burns before, but that's no reason to get cocky."

Dean gave a compliant nod, but Sam decided to add input. "We're not stupid, Dad. We know how to do this."

If the Impala hadn't just then pulled into view of the abandoned house, John might have let his flash of anger take control of his tongue. Ever since he'd hit his teens, Sam had been getting more and more contrary and temperamental. It was common knowledge for parents, even parents who lived on the fringes of society as they pursued a career in hunting dangerous supernatural entities, that the teenage years were to be dreaded, but Dean hadn't been nearly so bull-headed when he was Sam's age. John wasn't exactly well-versed in adolescent psychology or management, so he found himself arguing with his second-born a great deal more frequently. Now, however, they couldn't afford to spare the time. Despite Sam's insolence, waiting out here was just inviting the ghost to find them and roll the car while they were being idiots.

Doors slammed, collars were turned up against the sideways-blowing rain, guns were cocked, and pockets were patted down to check that everything they needed was at hand. When both Sam and Dean nodded to their father, John led the way up the loudly groaning porch steps to the front door.

The thin door was hanging half off its hinges, letting the three Winchesters slip in almost noiselessly. John peered around, keen eyes searching for anything suspicious. The house was a symphony of groans, creaks, shutters on the fly banging against their frames, and the constant drip of water.

"Living room," John muttered, taking point. If his intel was right, and John was positive it was, the body should be stashed under the floorboards. As he picked his way forward through debris and surprisingly deep puddles, he could feel his boys following in perfect position.

The center room was even more flooded than the hallway, an ankle-deep pond gathered in the lowered space. The front shutters clapped harshly back and forth, letting the downpour spray inside.

"I'll take first swing," Dean said, brandishing a hatchet as he moved to the middle of the room.

"We need to work fast. I don't think she's going to stay quiet for much longer," John warned.

The hatchet's blade gleamed as it was raised and swung down with significant strength behind it. Even over the noise caused by the storm, the hunters could hear the splash and then the 'thunk' of splitting wood.

The temperature took a swan dive into freezing. John heard the crack of Sam's gun going off, and the shriek of a dispersing, furious spirit.

Dean was right. It was going to be one of those nights.

* * *

"Sammy, even you gotta admit, that was totally badass."

"It was a lucky shot, Dean! You weren't even looking when you threw the lighter!"

"So?! It was still awesome!"

John shook his head as the ragtag family piled back into their motel room, soaked, bruised, exhausted, and ultimately triumphant.

"C'mon Sammy, don't be a bitch. It's not that hard to admit it. After digging that body up, saving your ass from getting tossed out the window, and then trick-shooting the lighter into the grave from across the room, who's amazing?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, shooting Dean a look that clearly said he wasn't going to play along. Dean, however, didn't seem to need the assistance. The older boy beamed widely and pointed to the self-proclaimed hero of the hour. "This guy. And because I'm so amazing, I get first dibs on the shower."

John spoke. "Wait up, Dean. I need to talk to you boys."

Beyond the teasing, John couldn't help but agree with his first child. Even with Dean's gloating, both his sons had done excellently on tonight's hunt. This ghost had been especially fierce and swift, but both Sam and Dean had held their positions and watched each other's backs like pros, all the while never letting up on getting to the ghost's remains and taking her out for good. John had almost felt unnecessary this night.

Dean paused on his way to the small bathroom, and Sam settled into a chair.

John paused briefly. He couldn't deny evidence, but he felt an internal hitch of hesitation. Dean and Sam might be ready for this, but they were still his children. The thought of either of them facing off against a ghost, or a wendigo, or a werewolf without him sent a chill down his spine.

But that was the thing. No matter what he wanted, there might come a day where he couldn't be there for his boys, and he wasn't going to leave them stranded and unprepared. It was best that he did this now, before that day came.

His sons were still looking at him, curiosity clear on their faces. John sighed. "After tonight, I think it's about time we started considering some hunts that the two of you could do." Another pause. "On your own." John's voice was just the slightest bit gruffer.

Dean stood ramrod-straight, his eyes widening. Sam blinked, swallowed, and almost seemed to grow smaller.

* * *

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

Stars burst in Harry's vision as his head smashed against the floor, and his chest and shoulder exploded in pain. A strangled cry ripped from his throat, but even as he could feel blood welling up on his chest, he wasn't about to lay down and let the invisible creature rip him apart. He rolled over onto his stomach. His glasses were gone, and the lights had completely shut off at this point. The Dursleys were nothing more than huddled blobs of gray in the corner of the room.

A thunderous bark shook the floor. Harry's head whipped to the left, knowing he wouldn't be able to spot the thing.

_"__Get to your wand!"_ Harry screamed mentally to himself. He could just barely see it, near the kitchen entrance. He didn't think, he just acted.

It was right behind him, and Harry fought the terror as he scrambled for his only defense with everything he was worth. It was just there, he just had to…

The world spun again, his already throbbing shoulder sending another wave of fire through his body. It had him, it was dragging him back and away from his wand, the Dursleys were yelling again, and even though Harry fought through the agony and scratched and pounded at the thing, his fists were just bouncing off a blazing form of muscle and coarse fur. It threw him down, blasting the air from his lungs. Harry couldn't move.

Four lines of fire tore down and deeply into his chest and then his stomach, and the stars in his vision were replaced by the blurring smears of nearing unconsciousness. An awful sensation of everything in his torso coming loose crawled through his body. Harry's yell cut off into a more pathetic choke. Warm wetness was soaking through his tattered shirt and running down his sides and stomach. A rank stench blew into his face, only making it harder to draw in a breath.

_"__Someone…please…" _This couldn't be it for him. Not yet.

Was this it?

Then it was gone. Not the pain, or the blindness, or the impending sense of oblivion, but the creature that had caused it all. Within a second, it was over.

Whimpers. The clinking of glass. His heart pounding irregularly in his throbbing chest and the sound of blood rushing in his ears. All of these sounds steadily fading away.

_Crack._

Did he know that sound? Harry didn't know, because he couldn't think. The wetness was still spreading, stinking of copper, and his chest felt like it was caving inward. He couldn't see. He heard another crack, but he couldn't recognize it because he couldn't think.

A loud pounding joined the steady, deafening beat drumming in his ears. More garbled cries from nearby, and a much louder voice shouting. The pounding came towards him.

_"__HARRY! Merlin… Kingsley, give me a hand!"_

_"__Mr. Dursley, please, you need to calm down and tell us what happened."_

_"__Remus, these injuries are severe. We need to get him back to headquarters now." _

_"__How was this even possible? I thought this house was protected?!"_

_"__Th-there was _nothing_! B-but it w-was horrible! The growling! A-And it r-ripped him apart! The boy…is he…?"_

_"__Hang in there, Harry. We'll have you safe and fixed up in no time. Help me with him." _

_"__Apparating with him in this state may not be safe."_

_"__It doesn't matter! If he doesn't receive help in the next few minutes, he'll die! We have to take the risk."_

The voices. He knew them. He wanted to speak, but he hurt too much. Everything, even the voices, was fading out.

"You'll be alright, Harry."

What was a scream of agony internally came out of his throat as hardly a gasp as he was shifted and picked up from the soaked patch of floor. He was still slipping away, the voices almost gone and the pain all-consuming, but at least he was warm now. He had been getting colder and colder, alone on the floor.

It felt good to not be alone, Harry's mind decided as it spiraled into nothingness.

* * *

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Sirius Black was going to kill Dumbledore.

It was bad enough that his godson was in danger, but the Headmaster had the audacity to forbid Sirius from immediately rushing to Harry's aid. What did it matter that he was a hunted criminal? The boy was alone against something none of them had a clue about. Sirius was already on the short list for worst godparent of all time, what with his complete absence from Harry's life until two years ago, and even after that he had only been able to see Harry a few times. Why couldn't he be allowed this one chance to be there for James' and Lily's child?

His fingernails rapped continuously against the tabletop of his childhood home's kitchen as he watched the nervous activity going on around him. He may have been barely restraining himself from leaping up and leaving against orders, but at least he wasn't the only one practically writhing from restlessness and worry.

Hermione Granger sat across from him, nose buried in a book, but since her eyes hadn't moved nor had she turned a page for several minutes now, Sirius knew that her mind was in the same place his was. Mrs. Weasley bustled about the kitchen preparing dinner, but her head was perpetually turned toward the staircase leading up to the front hall. Ron Weasley paced back and forth, more than once almost colliding with his mother. It seemed that his had occurred one too many times, because Mrs. Weasley finally slammed her cooking spoon against the counter with a sharp crack.

"Ronald Weasley, I understand you're worried about Harry; we all are. But this constant pacing isn't helping matters! You've made me almost spill dinner twice now!"

"Shouldn't they have been back by now?" Ron asked, seemingly oblivious to his mother's outburst. "They said they were going to be apparating rather than using brooms. What's taking so long?"

Sirius rather wanted to know that himself.

Hermione put in with her logical two cents. "They're probably just collecting Harry's things and letting his family know about the situation. It's not like they can just burst in, grab him, and then leave."

It made perfect sense, but Sirius couldn't shake the feeling of dread.

_"__Come on, Remus," _he willed his friend from a distance. _"If I can't be there, I trust you most with him. Just get him here safely, before I drop dead of worry." _

It seemed as though his internal plea had been answered when they heard the loud indication of someone apparating onto the porch, followed by a heavy thud against the door. The telltale shriek of Sirius's mother's portrait added the final crescendo of the long-awaited arrival.

Sirius was up and out of his seat within a second of the portrait's first wail, and despite Mrs. Weasley's imploring to remain calm, Ron and Hermione were only steps behind Sirius himself. They caught up with him easily though, the gangly Ron actually slamming into him, when Sirius froze abruptly in the front hallway.

No. His eyes were deceiving him. What he was seeing wasn't real.

"HARRY!" Hermione's horrified scream echoed through the house, and anyone who hadn't yet noticed the arrival of the retrieval squad certainly knew now. The remaining Weasley children craned their heads over the banisters upstairs, and several Order members emerged from deeper within the house. Sirius paid them absolutely no attention. His wide-eyed gaze was fixated on the pale, red-soaked teenager held in Remus's arms.

Another shriek, this time from Mrs. Weasley, finally shocked Sirius out of his stupor. Within a second, he was at Remus's side as his best friend ascended the stairs at practically a run.

"Remus, what happened?!" The question was on the verge of begging, his eyes still locked on Harry. Bile rose in his throat now that he could see the boy up close. His shirt had been shredded, and through the blood-darkened fabric Sirius could just make out the deep and gruesome wounds tracking down the boy's chest to his stomach. His left shoulder was also a mauled mess. "REMUS, WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED?!"

"I don't know!" Remus, usually cool-headed and logical, looked as though he were barely keeping control of himself as he entered one of the many bedrooms and laid Harry down. "We arrived at his house and we found him like this. All his relatives could say was that they were attacked by some invisible creature. It went right for Harry."

"Wait, his house? They were indoors?!" Sirius asked, going pale. "What happened to the wards? Dumbledore said he would be safe if he stayed inside!"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Remus shouted, drawing his wand and beginning to do what little he could for Harry before they could get him proper help. The former professor knew some medical magic, but not nearly enough for injuries of this magnitude. "I have no idea what's going on, Sirius, so I'm going to focus on making sure Harry doesn't slip through our fingers when we were supposed to be protecting him!"

Sirius's throat closed, and if he had been in his dog form, his tail would have tucked itself between his legs. He looked down at his godson once again, his hand unconsciously carding itself through the boy's black hair. He could do nothing but apologize to James and Lily, wherever they were, for the truly bang-up job he was doing as godfather for their unfortunate son.

The two friends were so engrossed, Remus in helping Harry and Sirius in his thoughts, that they didn't hear the sounds of several people entering the room.

"Step aside, Lupin," said a familiar and less than welcome voice. Sirius whirled around, glaring at the stony face of Professor Snape, who was staring at the terribly pale and still Harry with an unusually somber presence. Sirius opened his mouth to snap at his childhood rival, but another voice stopped him mid-snarl.

"Sirius, Remus, let him by. He can help Harry."

Dumbledore's arrival didn't exactly help Sirius's boiling fury. As much as he despised Snape, he wasn't about to stop the man when he was one of the few capable of saving Harry, but that left him wide open to turn on the Hogwarts Headmaster.

"You said Harry would be safe!" He may not have been a dog at the moment, but Sirius was more than capable of an intimidating growl. "The only reason you convinced me to stay here rather than go to him immediately was because you were convinced nothing could hurt him in that house. I've asked Remus already, but I'll ask again – what. The bloody hell. Happened?!"

The old wizard was silent. He wasn't even really looking at Sirius, his eyes alternating between the seething animagus who was this close to changing shape and lunging at the man, and Harry, whose wounds were slowly disappearing as Snape muttered quiet spells. For a moment, Sirius caught an expression on Dumbledore's face that he had never seen before. The professor looked lost. Sirius's rage cooled rapidly. He was still furious, but the sudden realization that not even Dumbledore had any clue as to what was coming up on them sent a chill through him.

Dumbledore blinked his clear blue eyes, turning his gaze back to Sirius. "I will be honest, Sirius. This is nothing I expected. I doubt any wizard could have. Under better circumstances, I would have been there tonight to retrieve Harry, but there have been urgent matters to attend to. I've been trying to make sense of this for days now."

"And you've found nothing?" This question was less accusing and more bewildered. Surely Dumbledore would have found something, and surely the wizarding world would have some knowledge of this sudden and widespread threat that seemed to have sprung out of thin air.

Dumbledore paused again, and this time his face grew darker. Instead of speaking, he beckoned Sirius out into the gloomy hallway before answering quietly. "No theories that I readily subscribe to yet, but… There is something very wrong, and not just because of Voldemort. I mentioned urgent matters, and those are mostly unexplained deaths occurring throughout Britain's magical community. As far as I can tell, it was no magic that did this to them. Both our allies and normal wizards are vanishing from their homes and turning up dead many leagues away, many of them quite damaged. I've also received reports of all sorts of magical creatures displaying unusual and violent behavior. All of this only within a month. If it wasn't for the tip that Harry was in danger, I wouldn't be convinced this was the Dark Lord's doing. I must go to the Dursleys, get the full story and see the house. Maybe that will give me the information I need. I trust I don't need to ask you to stay here this time?"

Sirius cast a glance back into the room. Harry's wounds were just about gone, but the boy was still too white and too still. "Of course not. I couldn't leave him, not now."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm sorry you couldn't be there initially, Sirius, but you're with him now. He'll need you, and no doubt young Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger when he wakes."

The younger man nodded, his long hair falling over his face and shielding the anger and guilt in his eyes. "Just find out what's going on."

Dumbledore had every intent of keeping that promise, he thought as he left the room and descended the stairs back into the chaos down below. The thing was, even if he wasn't admitting it, he might already be on the right track to finding out what exactly was happening in the wizarding world. But even Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time, couldn't truly bring himself to believe the creeping suspicions that had implanted themselves in his mind, partly because it was so far-fetched and based off of legend alone, but also because of reluctance. He wouldn't be as foolish as the Ministry to just ignore the possibility, but if it turned out to be true, Dumbledore dreaded to think of the repercussions. If his suspicions turned out to be correct, they might be facing something far worse than Voldemort himself. And that, Dumbledore couldn't deny, was something to be feared.

* * *

_A/N: Bit of a slow burn, but I like things to get their proper build-up. Thank you all so much for your follows and favorites, and a special thank you to Wanderstar, musicalgryffindor, and Ummay Winchester for the reviews. I'd love to hear from the rest of you your thoughts on the story and any ideas you might have. With only a few reviewers, I'm feeling a little blind. Do you guys like this, or is it just one of those 'meh' stories? I'd really appreciate your input.  
_

_P.S. At some point soon, there might be a lengthy gap for updates, because my computer is bugged up the ass and needs to get fixed. So if I disappear for a fair chunk of time, that's probably why. _


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Harry was sore, bone-tired, and confused when his eyes drifted open after what seemed like an eternity in dreamless, deadweight sleep. For a second, he couldn't remember a thing, whether it be his middle name or whether or not he liked corn on the cob. This brief moment of blankness was allowed roughly five seconds before it was banished by the appearance of a bushy blur rocketing into his line of vision.

"Harry! Ron, look, he's waking up!"

The boy blinked, the fogginess in his brain clearing a bit. He recognized the voice: Hermione.

What the hell was Hermione doing in Surrey? And did she say Ron?

The blur pressed something into his hand where it was laying limp at his side. It took Harry a second, but once he realized the object was his glasses, he shakily slipped them on. Sure enough, the blur became a pale, frazzled-looking Hermione sitting in a chair by his bed. Slightly behind her, Ron looked like he was about to faint in relief.

A fair jumble of emotions followed his realization of his friends' presences. There was joy in seeing them again, concern for their obviously unsettled states, a bit of anger about the silence over the last couple of weeks, and most of all confusion. Harry asked himself once again why and how his two best friends were here in his room, and why his room suddenly looked nothing at all like his room. Instead of a small, white-walled, largely bare bedroom with a window looking out over Little Whinging, the room was large and ornate, but also dusty and rather gloomy. How did he get here? The last thing Harry could easily recall was a typical boring day at the Dursleys.

"And at last, he returns," said another familiar voice on his other side.

Turning his head, which felt like it could roll off his shoulders if he moved too quickly, Harry caught sight of a man he'd been wanting to see just as much as he had his friends.

"Sirius." The name was croaked hoarsely, and it felt like there were cotton balls stuck in his throat, but that didn't seem to have any effect on Sirius, a wide smile appearing on his tired face. Harry bolted upright in his excitement and was immediately assaulted by an explosion of white light in his vision and a deep burn in his chest.

"Easy, Harry!" Sirius's voice warbled unclearly as Harry attempted to gasp around the feeling of a lit torch being shoved down his throat and into his chest cavity. Steady hands, one small and slender and the other large and strong caught him on either side, keeping him from keeling completely off the bed, which he was grateful for. Planting face into a grubby carpet in front of his friends and godfather was not exactly how he had hoped to be reunited with the wizarding world.

At last, the spots receded and Harry felt the fire in his chest vanishing. He could feel sweat dripping down his forehead and every breath stung, but it wasn't nearly as awful as it had been.

"W-what was _that_?" he coughed, his confusion once more taking the lead. He'd only felt a similar pain twice before, and that was from the basilisk's venom and from the cruciatus curse that Voldemort had inflicted on him. So how in the hell did he come across an injury of that magnitude at the Dursleys' of all places?

Harry shivered when he suddenly got a quick flash of an impression, of a hot stench, a loud noise, and pain.

"Harry, you all right, mate?" Ron spoke up for the first time, voice tight with anxiousness.

The pain was just about gone. Harry nodded. "Yeah, I think so. What's going on?" he asked, looking up and around at his friends. "Why am I here? What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Hermione asked, her back straightening and her eyes focusing intently. It was the face she displayed whenever she intended to tackle a difficult problem and come out on top, whether it be a school assignment or one of their many perilous ventures.

Harry settled back into his pillow, a sudden and near paralyzing exhaustion locking his limbs and slowing his thoughts. "I…I don't know. I can remember a lot of noise, and getting hurt. But I can't really…see it, you know? Do any of you…?"

"Not much more than you," Sirius said, sitting back with a frustrated look. "You were attacked by some kind of creature. Your aunt and uncle claim that it was invisible, but in situations like these, muggles aren't always the most reliable witnesses."

Harry cringed again as he caught another flash of memory. Maybe that was why his recollection seemed so incomplete. "I think they're right, Sirius. I can remember the noise, the pain, and this awful stink, but I can't remember any creature. It sounded like a giant dog, though."

Hermione scooted closer. "Harry, see if you can't tell us what happened in order, everything you can remember."

Harry's brow furrowed in concentration, as the other three all drew a little nearer. Haltingly, with frequent pauses to catch the rags of memory that kept dancing out of reach, Harry related the evening of two days ago, as Hermione informed him: Mrs. Figg's warning, Sirius' letter, Dudley coming home in a panic, the unseen creature attacking the house, and at last Harry losing consciousness due to his injuries just as Lupin and the others arrived to pick him up. In turn, Ron, Hermione, and Sirius told him what happened after he arrived, as well as a general rundown about the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius also told the three teenagers what Dumbledore told him about what was going on out in the wizarding world, all the while glancing furtively toward the door. From the way his godfather was acting, Harry didn't doubt that what Sirius was telling them would have been met with disapproval from other Order members, but it was most information he had in months, so he kept his mouth shut and listened intently.

"This doesn't make any sense!" Hermione hissed when Sirius finished relating what he knew. "How could Voldemort be doing this? Well, maybe now isn't so strange, but Dumbledore said this has been going on for around a month now! How could he mobilize his forces so quickly? In fact, _why _mobilize them? What's the point of attacks meant to inspire fear when the Ministry is insisting that Voldemort can't have returned?"

"They're what?" Harry asked, incredulous. Admittedly, Fudge had been less than believing when Harry had first returned with the news of the Dark Lord's rise, but surely he must have been brought around at some point.

Hermione startled a bit, looking somewhat guilty before she waved him off. "Story for another time; it's too long and frustrating to go into now. I'm just trying to find the logic here." She paused, her eyes narrowing, before she turned to Harry again. "You said that the creature disappeared right before the Order members arrived, right?"

"Yeah. Do you think they scared it off?"

Sirius shook his head. "Doubtful. Your home was warded tight, Remus said so. Nothing harmful should have been able to get in, so something that did make it through has to be very powerful. It shouldn't have backed down even from several experienced wizards, at least not right away."

"So then why did it leave?" Ron asked, eyes wide.

Nobody had an answer for that, but Harry was positive that it meant nothing good.

All four occupants of the room jumped when the door unexpectedly swung open with a rather magnificent screech of rusty hinges, punctuated by a solid bang as it hit the wall. Two identical, gangly redheads stormed the room, grinning widely.

"Harry, you prat, finally awake at last?" asked Fred, or maybe George, with the pair's usual cheer.

"You gave us a right scare, showing up like that. Get bored of the relatives, decided to go wrestle a werewolf or something? No offense to dear old Lupin, of course," the other twin chimed in.

"It's not funny, you two." A third redhead entered, and Harry was all too willing to return Ginny's warm, relieved smile. "I'm glad you're all right, Harry."

"Believe me, so am I." Harry scratched at his chest. The pain was just about gone, but it still felt hot under his skin, and a spooky sensation crawling up his torso caused a small shiver.

"Hey Ronnykins, aren't you forgetting something?" one of the twins asked, eyebrow raised.

Ron grimaced. "Mum told me to tell her when you woke up. I wanted to wait a minute and let you get your head on straight before she smothered you."

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure she won't mind."

Ron stood, hurrying for the door. "If I tell her now she won't. Hope you're hungry; she'll probably empty the kitchen and every cupboard for you."

"Oh, and Ron," Sirius called, pausing the boy in the doorway. "If you could, erm, _neglect_ to tell Molly about the conversation we just shared, I'm sure we'd all come out the better for it." The wide eyes shared around the room displayed mutual agreement as Ron ducked out.

Harry settled back, allowing his own relief to settle in. They might be heading for deep trouble with this mysterious threat rising on Voldemort's side, but for now he was with family in a secure location, he was exhausted but not dead, and he was looking forward to one of Mrs. Weasley's to-die-for meals after weeks of grapefruit and plain toast. It might not be much, but Harry was more than grateful for it.

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

The perpetual whistle and clinking of the silver instruments in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts sounded unusually muffled. The portraits were very quiet. Fawkes the phoenix perched on his stand, silent and still. The room was attuned to its owner's feelings; it seemed as if even the silvery light coming in through the high windows grew ashen and grim.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, staring at the book that lay open in front of him on the desk. Many other books were stacked on his desk and about the room, but it was only this one that held his focus.

It wasn't proof, Dumbledore knew. It was an old lore book made more for entertainment than historical documentation, presented more as fairy tales like those of Beedle the Bard. No doubt this book was filled with inaccuracies and slack research, as well as a slant toward disbelief because of the more muggle-centric legends it contained. But it had caught Dumbledore's interest because of written events that seemed much too familiar. He poured over the passage again for perhaps the tenth time this hour.

_These creatures, predominant in books of various muggle theologies and in assorted other beliefs throughout the world, have been said to have existed nearly since the dawn of time. They are reported to have power of the malevolent sort; bringers of storms, disease, strife, madness, and death. Supposedly, they have no earthly form of their own, instead seizing the bodies of others with which to commit heinous acts, casting aside their victims once their usefulness had worn out, leaving the bodies of innocents far from home. This creature goes by many names: Shedu, daemon, se'irim, jinn, and demon. _

Demon. Dumbledore recognized the term. He wasn't as close-minded as many wizards his age, but even he would not immediately accept a theory based on a hunch and a suspect lore book. No, it was Harry's situation that had really caused his suspicion. Blood magic, the kind set in place by a sacrifice made for a loved one, was perhaps the most powerful of all magic that he knew of. Nothing in the wizard or muggle world should have been able to cross it with ill intent, yet something had, and that told Dumbledore that whatever they were dealing with, it was beyond even Voldemort's abilities. He was positive they were connected, but it wasn't a power of Tom Riddle's making.

Dumbledore sighed deeply and wearily, slumping back in his seat and rubbing a bony hand over his eyes. Fawkes cawed softly, swooping down to preen into his master's other hand.

"My old friend," the old wizard murmured, "I believe that old Tom has…what's the term? Bitten off more than he can chew, I believe. These demon creatures or not, whatever he has conjured can only mean even greater peril looms over our world." Fawkes cooed again, his beady black eye fixed on Albus, whose face had become sad.

"Whatever madness Voldemort has unleashed, undoubtedly Harry will receive the brunt. The poor boy. Is it not enough to have destiny weigh so hard on his shoulders, when he deserves nothing less than happiness and fortune? Especially a destiny I am reinforcing." Dumbledore grew silent for a minute, before standing straight and unyielding once again. "This matter, whatever it may be, is not Harry's fight. It is for us others to face and protect him from, but we can't do it alone, Fawkes. Not without help. So the search goes on."

Fawkes crowed in agreement, flaming out and vanishing alongside his master. The room was left in silence.

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so maybe I should clarify some things that will not be in this story. No slash, since I'm sticking to both canons as much as possible; no significant romance, though there may be some flirting; no bashing, and no manipulative Dumbledore. I don't really see why people dislike him so much. Yeah, he was manipulative at points, but that just made him interesting, flawed, and human to me. So don't expect me to hate on the ol' Headmaster; I like him too much._

_Oh, and sorry about no Winchesters this chapter or the next, but I can promise another beloved Supernatural character for the next update. A cookie to you if you guess right (it's not a hard guess)._

_A big thanks to everyone who has followed this or listed this story as a favorite, and a special thanks to __**musicalgryffindor**__, __**planetoffire**__, __**everythingwillbeperfect**__, __**Wanderstar**__, __**thingofmyth**__, and __**esperanza100**__ for their reviews. See y'all at the next update._


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

It was a joyous day for Harry when he was finally allowed out of bed by the duo of mother hens, Sirius Black and Molly Weasley. It might have only been two days, but it felt more like two years after all the pampering.

His first day of freedom was met with a pleasant surprise in the form of a late birthday party. The Weasleys and Hermione were adamant on throwing one, even though Harry had just missed the actual date. It was there he met and familiarized himself with quite a few members of the Order of the Phoenix, some of which had been there to fetch him that night. There was Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mundungus Fletcher, Nymphadora Tonks, and of course, Remus Lupin. It had been a treat to reunite with his favorite professor once again over a delicious chocolate cake.

He'd also taken to exploring Sirius' childhood home. It was a maze to explore, and one could never be certain what kind of magical vermin or uninvited tenants were going to pop out of a cupboard, but at least it kept things interesting. Even so, it was a gloomy and uninviting place, and Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for his godfather for having to spend his childhood here, no matter how fancy it was.

All in all, even if Grimmauld Place was as depressing a headquarters as a crypt, the days were busy and interesting, filled with cleaning out the old place, catching up with Ron and Hermione, and steering clear of the recently come-of-age twins and their rampant magic use.

The nights, however, were something else entirely. At first, Harry could put it aside, chalk it up to the series of dark events that had taken place in his life recently, but the more he tried to block it out, the worse it seemed to get. Nightmares that felt far too vivid to be nightmares filled every moment of sleep he could snatch. Most of the time, they featured Voldemort. The cemetery, the cruciatus, his parents' ghosts, Cedric's body; all the old hits, only super-charged in realism and detail. On rarer occasions, he would get other dreams that he dreaded even more; a dark void, stretching into eternity, crisscrossed by clanking chains and filled with screams of agony. And then there were the blazing red eyes and long fangs dripping with gore and thick saliva, coming at him, trying to rip him apart. Harry would always wake up sweating, even on the colder nights.

Fingers snapped loudly directly in front of Harry's face, causing him to jolt and almost knock his breakfast plate off the table.

"I bet Fred you had fallen asleep with your eyes open. What do you think, Fred? Asleep, or just floating in the clouds?" George said, turning to his twin.

Harry rubbed his eyes, mustering up a smile. "Sorry, George. Just thinking." He silently thanked George for distracting him, and managed a laugh when George cursed a blue streak as he handed over his money. Automatically, Harry's hand jumped to his chest, rubbing away the soreness that cropped up with the laugh. The eerie feeling was still lingering, but he was learning to shake it off.

"You going to eat the rest of that?" Ron asked, pointing at Harry's barely spared breakfast remains. In response, Harry shoved his plate to his best friend, who tucked in with gusto.

Hermione, after giving Ron the typical semi-disgusted stare, turned to Harry. "We should be getting our Hogwarts letters soon. I want to get an early start on the new curriculum, since we have our OWLs this year."

"Mmhm," Harry supplied, trying to shove that creepy feeling back in the mental lockbox.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry, are you all right?"

It was natural compulsion for Harry to immediately affirm that yes, he was fine. Hermione looked less than convinced. The others were eyeing her, since there seemed to be an unspoken agreement not to mention Harry's close encounter with the Grim Reaper a few days ago. Harry didn't understand why. This wasn't the first time he'd scraped past death, so there was really no need to fuss. He squirmed; damn spooky feeling again. A part of him felt anger too. They'd ditched him with the Dursleys for what would have been the whole summer if the incident hadn't occurred. Why be so concerned now?

Hermione looked like she was going to bring up the subject again, so Harry went for distraction.

"Does anyone have any idea where Dumbledore's gotten to? I know he's been looking into all of this strange stuff, but I thought he would have come around at some point." That piqued their interest, which was only good news for Harry.

Both the twins plopped down across from him, nearly budging Ron off the bench. "When we were giving the Extendable Ears a stretch last night, we overheard a few of the members talking. Seems like Dumbledore's been running all over the place, trying to find out the answer to our monstrous mystery. Has been even before you got here," George said in a conspiring whisper.

Fred pitched in. "I think one of them even said Dumbledore's left the country."

Harry frowned. "Why would he do that?"

Fred and George turned to Ron; it had been his turn to use the Ears at that part, apparently. Ron shrugged. "Not much. They just said Dumbledore was hoping to find more answers, maybe something about finding an expert."

Harry did his best to swallow the disappointment. He had truly been hoping that Dumbledore might come around soon, so Harry could get some answers of his own. He had thought that the Headmaster would stop by after Harry woke up from his injuries, but he hadn't shown.  
Again, he could feel a bitter anger inside him. Dumbledore couldn't have taken just a few hours to come by, explain why he'd left Harry waiting on pins and needles, what was happening with these night terrors, and what in the hell Harry was supposed to do now.

He kept it inside, though. No doubt Dumbledore was doing something very important. If he could find the answers that they all craved, it would all be for the better. Harry continued to tell himself that for the rest of the day.

* * *

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Bobby Singer was aiming to call this day a good one. While he wasn't a skip-through-the-daisies, hippie kind of character, he was a simple man, one that could just relax and enjoy a sunny summer afternoon with a beast of a 1970's Mustang to work on and a cold beer close at hand with nothing else requiring his attention.

In general, Bobby was a lot more relaxed in the summer. While the job of a hunter was never done, especially one that so many others of the profession came to for information, the warmer months always seemed a lot calmer in the supernatural areas. Creatures like ghosts and what little remained of the vampire population settled down considerably with the much shorter night times, and the warmer weather seemed to put a spell of laziness over many other things that went bump in the night. The only exception seemed to be demon possessions, which seemed to happen most in the summer months, but since actually exorcising the damn things was more Jim Murphy's thing than Bobby's, his stress levels weren't bumped too much.

This seemed to be a thing with most hunters, Bobby guessed. He hadn't gotten a call from some rookie in over his or her head, or even one of the regulars looking for a particular spell in a couple weeks now. As far as he knew, Rufus Turner was off on the west coast doing whatever-the-hell, the good Pastor was in New York working a job, and the Winchesters were off-grid again. John had probably gotten himself on America's Most Wanted again, the damn idjit. Bobby shook his head in sympathy for the boys. He briefly wondered how they were doing; he hadn't seen the family since early January.

The warmth of the sun overhead was soothing, and combined with the occasional birdsong in the trees and his new pup's lazy panting, Bobby was ready to settle in for a quiet day with just him, Rumsfeld, and the Mustang.

So it was just his luck when he heard the phone ringing distantly from the house. With a long-suffering sigh and a muttered 'damn it all', Bobby slammed the hood down, taking a long swig from his beer before heading for the house. Hopefully it was just another customer _not_ of the demon-fighting, ghost-slaying variety.

He caught the phone on the last ring, thankfully the basic one and not one of the lines directed to a false FBI handler, federal marshal, or any other faked government official.

"Singer Salvage," Bobby grunted, hoping they'd make it quick.

"Hey, Bobby? It's Caleb." Just his luck. Hunter business. Bobby might have been more frustrated if he hadn't caught the peculiar tone in the young hunter's voice.

"What's wrong?" He preferred getting right to the point.

Caleb hesitated, only his steady breathing audible over the line, so nothing too hell-raising had to be going on. The kid finally spoke up, his tone still vaguely baffled.

"Nothing's really wrong, I don't think. But I wanted to call ahead and warn you, just in case. Apparently, there's some old guy, and I'd bet whatever money's in my pocket he ain't normal, that's been traveling around to a bunch a different hunters. So far as I've heard, pretty much everyone's run him off, but he's still at it."

Bobby blinked. "So, you're callin' me about this because of hearsay?" he asked slowly, ready to give the kid a piece of his mind. He didn't figure Caleb to be the type to spread a rumor like some Gossiping Gertie spying on the neighbors.

"Hell no, Bobby, gimme some credit! I wouldn't've called if I hadn't seen the nutjob with my own eyes. He showed up at my motel room last night. Woulda blasted the old codger right there if I hadn't had me a few fifths of Jack and was shooting straight."

"He came to you? What the hell did he want?"

"Don't really know. I didn't give him time to say much. The guy was in my locked motel room when I got back in, and all the wards were still up. He didn't stay long after the first couple shots. All I got was that he's been looking for a hunter, needs help with something big. After that I called around, figured out that Olivia and Walter have seen this guy, and some contacts of theirs too. I figured since you've got a lot of connections in the hunting world he'd be coming around to see you at some point, if he hadn't already."

Bobby pushed his trucker's cap back over his forehead, rubbing wearily at the aging skin. Seeing as how Caleb and several other hunters had encountered this strange man and there had been no violence, at least from the mystery man's end, he likely wasn't posing a threat. However, considering the appearances behind locked doors and wards, as well as how quickly he was finding normally well-hidden hunters across the nation, Caleb was probably right about the guy not being totally normal. Best to be prepared.

"Thanks for the heads-up. I'll keep an eye out, and see if I can't call some o' the others, get some more insight on this guy," Bobby said, already tallying up what he might need, just in case.

"No problem. See ya around, Bobby." A loud click ended the call.

The first thing Bobby's mind really turned to were the possible things this old man could be.  
He doubted so many hunters would miss the signs of creatures they typically dealt with, like ghosts, demons, shapeshifters, and the like. They wouldn't be able to get past the right warding anyhow. Rarer creatures that weren't hindered by protections, like tulpas and rugarus, weren't likely to seek out specific people, or be fairly rational. So Bobby's best guess would be some kind of witch, since they were largely human. After placing a few select calls, Bobby was more reassured in his theories. It took some sifting through the hunters' indignant shouting about their space being invaded and incredulous rants that the guy had shown up in his goddamn _bathrobe_ to find out that the guy had just vanished into thin air after being run off. However, his biggest piece of evidence took the form of one of the visited hunters claiming he'd seen the man holding a long stick, like a wand.

Oh yeah. Bobby knew what that meant. While not as bad as it could be, that still meant he shouldn't get caught with his pants down.

He spent the afternoon he'd hoped to spend outside painting a few extra decorations on his interior walls. He also kept a loaded shotgun at his side for the rest of the day. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky went purple, Bobby went to bed with the shotgun still at hand, thinking wistfully of the Mustang job.

The next day was just as bright and pleasant as the last, if a bit cooler. Heading outside once again, Bobby hoped that today would go as planned, with no urgent calls or uninvited guests.

But of course, he had the luck of every hunter out there. Shit luck.

At 11 AM sharp, just as Bobby was preparing to go to work on the busted muscle car, he heard a faint crack off in the direction of his house. Merely a second later, a warning red light glowed from within the windows of the place. He stifled a curse. Son of a bitch really did have the worst timing.

He went in through the back door, thankfully finding no one in the house. Maybe the guy had learned something after his last few encounters with jumpy, trigger-happy fringe dwellers, and decided not to just let himself in. So, keeping the shotgun tactfully shielded behind his back, Bobby went to open the front door.

The heated reports from the other hunters turned out to be true. The old man was indeed wearing a robe; too formal and ornate to be a simple bathrobe, though. However, Bobby was a bit more informed than most hunters, so he was positive he knew what was up with this guy. He kept one eye tacked on the man's hands, which were clasped behind his back at the moment.

"Is this Robert Singer's residence?"

The guy was British. Great, Bobby thought, a bit more of an unknown entity than he'd first believed. At least the guy was off his home turf, so he probably wouldn't try anything too extreme. "Who's askin'?" he grunted.

The old man wasn't at all phased by the tone, merely inclining his head respectfully. "I have become quite aware that those of your profession don't much appreciate waffling and riddles, so I will be honest with you. I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"I'd love to see your business cards," Bobby said dryly, allowing his weapon to sneak into view. This Dumbledore had straight-up admitted to possessing magic powers, so he figured he should return the favor of honesty. "From the way you're dressed and the fact that you've got a school, I'm guessing you prefer the term wizard to witch."

Dumbledore raised a wispy eyebrow. "Ah. I was wondering if any of you were aware, and it would seem so. Might I ask, is the American magical government aware of your knowledge?"

Bobby gave him a cold stare. "I think you mean, why haven't I had my memories bleached and squeegeed?" Dumbledore had the grace to look a little sheepish. "Yeah, they know that some of us know. Kind of an unspoken agreement. They keep to themselves and keep their own under control, we don't get on their asses, and we're basically free pest control for them, so why waste the resources? Besides, we already know most of the belly-crawlin' freakshows roamin' this planet; a self-contained wizard society ain't exactly high on our list of concerns."

Dumbledore nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I see. Quite a tolerant arrangement. I only wish it were possible back home." The old man seemed to shake off the subject, meeting Bobby's eyes directly. "I apologize, I have a tendency to wander off into subjects of less import. Since it appears that you were expecting me, I'm guessing you know I'm here for a reason. Would you mind terribly if I came in to discuss it?"

Over long years of hunting, Bobby had developed a keen sixth sense for anything out to maim, disembowel, possess, kill, or harm him in any way, shape, or form. It certainly came in handy against some of the trickier adversaries, because any funny business and his alarm bells would go off like crazy. Dumbledore, despite being a wizard, sent up no warnings, even though Bobby suspected there was significant power behind that benign persona. So he stepped back, leaving the door open. "Come on in. Can't guarantee there ain't nothing in here that's doesn't react well with your kind, but I'll keep my finger off the trigger. And for the record, yes, I'm Bobby Singer."

"Thank you, for your time and for your hesitation in firing on me," Dumbledore said with a mischievous smile as he entered the house. "I'd heard of guns, but encountering one in action is another matter altogether. Thank Merlin for quick apparation skills; I might otherwise be returning to Britain with a good deal less of me."

"I'd also thank your lucky stars a good number o' hunters are dead drunks. Most of 'em don't miss their targets on a good day." Bobby shut the door and then led Dumbledore into his cluttered den. The wizard didn't seem to mind the mess; in fact, he seemed quite comfortable amongst the hodgepodge of books, furniture, and the odd spell component.

"You, uh, want some coffee? Beer, maybe?" Bobby asked, feeling slightly out of his comfort zone. Most people he dealt with called him on the phone, or else barged through the door with little warning and headed straight for the nearest booze. In this case, it felt much too formal.

"No, thank you. I'd prefer to get right to business."

"All right," Bobby said, secretly relieved. He sat behind his desk, feeling vaguely like some business big wig seeing a client, which was kind of half-true. "So, fire away."

Dumbledore blinked, hesitating for a moment as he pulled up a chair. Now that he wasn't completely in paranoid hunter mode, Bobby could really see that Dumbledore didn't just seem old; he seemed ancient, both in looks and in the air about him. Bobby wasn't exactly in his prime anymore, more wrinkles showing in his face almost daily and a few hints of gray creeping into his ginger hair and beard. However, next to Dumbledore, he almost felt like a snotty teenager again.

The wizard began his story rather abruptly. "The wizarding world of Britain is on the edge of war with a recently resurrected dark wizard by the name of Voldemort. Those of us who are aware of his return expected dark times ahead, but recently there has been some activity that suggests that Voldemort may have allied himself with something that our society isn't truly aware of or prepared for. What research I could manage only gave me possible hints as to what this new threat could be, but during my investigation I discovered the existence of hunters and their community. I was admittedly rather shocked; I nor the magical world of Britain had ever heard of this phenomena. It's a rare thing, at least in our knowledge, for a muggle to stumble across and realize the existence of the magical world, let alone a whole miniature society."

Bobby caught the word muggle, guessing it referred to people like him, the non-supernatural folk. He wasn't particularly fond of the term, but he let it pass as Dumbledore continued.

"I had few other places to look, so I sought out these hunters in the hopes that some of them might have answers. If you can believe it, the British hunters were even less welcoming than those here in America."

"That's hard to believe," Bobby said with a snort. "What'd you do to piss 'em off so bad?"

Dumbledore's face grew somber. "One hunter that did allow me to speak enlightened me. Some hunters in England are aware of our magical community, just as you are aware of yours. However, they stay much more hidden and are much less trusting of us because of our strict policy with non-magical people who are aware of us."

Bobby nodded, lips thin with disapproval. "The mind-scrubbing."

"Yes, sadly. Often, even if it is morally gray, it's for the better. Many people would rather be ignorant of the hidden things in this world, and some cannot handle it at all. It also maintains our secrecy and safety. Nevertheless, it does feel like a gross violation most of the time, at least to me."

Bobby could agree somewhat on that point. He couldn't help but think of people left traumatized by their encounters with the darker sides of this world, of the children that would know that there very well could be a monster under their beds, of the good folks who became hunters because of bitterness, loss, and a need for revenge. He didn't think that he would go so far as wiping memories if that was an option, but he couldn't deny the allure of ignorance.

Dumbledore went on. "The woman that informed me of this mistrust could still see I needed help. She would not step in herself; she said she had no desire to be double-crossed by some suspicious wand-waggler, her own words, but that if the need was truly that great, I should seek out help from hunter communities in other countries where they are less wary of our kind. I decided to start here; the American magical government is much looser in their policies with muggles, as you confirmed earlier. And, after numerous and rather hazardous encounters, here I am."

Bobby huffed loudly, taking a moment to process. This was a whole new situation, but it shouldn't start any differently than any other case that required a hunter's services.

"Well then, why don't you start with the problem and what kind of help you're lookin' for?"

"I have no solid proof, since I cannot be sure what solid proof_ is_ in this case," Dumbledore said as he pulled a long wand from within his sleeve. Bobby aimed his gun from beneath the desktop, but his finger was not yet on the trigger. "However," Dumbledore continued, "I have an idea of what might be the problem." With a graceful wave, the wand produced a book from thin air, the volume landing open in front of Bobby. He examined it, putting the impromptu magic show to the back of his mind for now.

The hunter glanced up at the Headmaster. "Demons, huh? What makes you think that, if your magic world has no real record of 'em?"

"I admit this book isn't a reliable source, but some of the signs it mentions match the occurrences in Britain. Wizards and witches are disappearing from their homes and showing up dead far away. Certain species of magical creatures have gone rabid during the past month for no explainable reason. There have also been multiple thunderstorms in the past few weeks all across the United Kingdom. Normally, this would not be unusual, but these can appear within an hour on a previously cloudless, sunny day."

Bobby sighed, already shaking a head in sympathy. "Yep, that sounds like a demon problem all right, and a big one if all of Britain's spittin' dark omens." He sat back, scratching beneath the brim of his cap. "You either gotta get yourself a league of hunters that know what they're doin', or attack the source; for so many to be out at once means someone had to summon 'em, or popped a devil's gate. You said you thought this dark lord o' yours was the one that pulled 'em up from the pit. Why do you think it's him?"

Again, Dumbledore's face took on a sad quality. "One of Voldemort's greatest adversaries was attacked not long ago in his home. He survived, thankfully, but was still severely injured."

Bobby shrugged. "Could just be coincidence. You said a lot of other wizards were bein' attacked; maybe it was random." Bobby doubted that, but sometimes you had to play devil's advocate just to make sure all options were explored.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. In my experience, when dealing with Harry Potter, there is no coincidence."

Well, Bobby had no doubts any longer about whether there was a job in this. Hunters weren't normally into international jobs, but no matter the pros and cons, bottom line said that that many demons running loose anywhere in the world was bad news that needed to be dealt with. Whoever this Voldemort moron was, however he'd managed to yank the legions of Hell up from where they belonged, Bobby hoped it would come back and bite him in the ass for all the trouble it was going to cause. "All right, you got me convinced. What did you want done? Seems like a tall order for just one hunter, but I'll see if there's something I can do, or someone I can refer you to that's better suited."

Relief flooded out of Dumbledore, and he dipped his head gratefully. "You have my deepest gratitude, Mr. Singer. I had hoped for someone who could explain the nature of demons and the ways of dealing with them to those under my employ who oppose Voldemort and his mission, and possibly find out how exactly Voldemort managed to rally them." The old man hesitated briefly before continuing, looking slightly less hopeful. "There is also another service I hope could be rendered. The one that was attacked, Harry Potter, is returning to school in September. I cannot be sure if he will be safe from demons there, so someone who could watch out for him would greatly ease my mind."

Well, that shot the one-man-job option right out of the air. However, his attention was a little more hung up on something else. "Returning to school? You mean this is a kid we're talking about?"

"Yes, Harry Potter is fifteen." Dumbledore sounded business-as-usual, but Bobby got the sense this topic was a little sensitive.

"So, one of your would-be evil overlord's greatest enemies isn't even old enough to drive a car yet? How the hell did that happen?" he asked incredulously.

The wizard sighed. "I'm afraid that that is a long tale that is a little personal on Harry's side, and not for me to reveal lightly. I can say, though, that the boy is deeply involved in the matter of Voldemort's return and is at risk of another attack. There have also been recent developments in our government that are going to cause problems at the school of the institutional kind. Harry Potter needs to be kept safe, but very few can know about it."

Bobby dug his roughened fingers into his eyes, trying to rub away a sudden ache in his head. "I guess this is gonna be a bit more difficult than I thought. First thing's first, I'm not sure how much I personally can help ya. If it was just the instruction and investigation bit, that I could do, but if you want someone goin' undercover at this school of yours, 'fraid that's off the table."

"I see," Dumbledore said pensively. "I understand your reasons. Is there anyone else that might be able to take this job? If it might help, I am willing to pay and handle all arrangements."

Now that was new. Hunting wasn't a paying job, so a case with benefits was like a lifetime opportunity. Bobby kind of wished he could take this one. "Well, depends on what kinda skills you're lookin' for."

"If it is not considered presumptuous, I had basically hoped for the best," the wizard admitted.

Immediately, in Bobby's mind, possible contacts fell away like autumn leaves from a tree, leaving only a few options. One in particular stood out in his mind, but a sense of protectiveness, and secretly some self-preservation, caused him to skirt it at first. "Well, Pastor Jim Murphy specializes in demon exorcisms, but he ain't exactly a fightin' man. Can handle his way up and down all kindsa weapons, don't get me wrong, but he's no strategist. Then there's a best friend duo that works the east coast, Tom Shepard and Jay Danns, but they aren't exactly the social type."

Bobby stopped. He really didn't want to say it, just because he knew his friend would be out for blood for pointing a supernatural unknown in his direction, but Dumbledore was asking for the best, and when Bobby thought of best, he thought of the most skilled hunting family he had ever met. Besides, there was a kid involved, wizard or not. They couldn't just leave him hanging.

_"__Sorry, John, I'm not leavin' a kid out to dry, doesn't matter how much you're gonna bitch about it. And you'll get paid for it. Dean might be too far gone, but Sam's gonna wanna get to college someday."_

"But if you're really lookin' for the best," Bobby said out loud, "I'd track down John Winchester. Him and his two boys have got the training and the sheer craziness to pull off a job like this."

Dumbledore was obviously intrigued, and eager to continue his search. "Thank you very much for your assistance, Mr. Singer. Would you know where I might find them?"

"First of all, it's Bobby; Mr. Singer was my drunkard father. Second, I don't got an exact address, they dropped off the radar a while back, but I got John's cell number in case of an emergency. I can call him, see if I can't get their location."

The simple process of dialing John's number seemed to arouse great curiosity in the old wizard. _"I'm glad one of us is having a good time,"_ Bobby mentally grumbled.

To be honest, Bobby wasn't expecting anyone to pick up, so when someone did it was a little shocking. It was even more surprising when the voice wasn't John's rough growl, but a higher and clearer voice that was just beginning to break. "Bobby?"

He couldn't help the smile that voice brought out. "Heya, Sam. I was expecting your daddy." This would make things easier. Sam wouldn't be jumping on every word he said with paranoid questions.

"Dad's back at the motel. Dean and I are working our first case without him." Sam didn't exactly sound like he was jumping through the roof about that.

"Congratulations, kid. Goin' through the right of passage already." Bobby cast a glance at Dumbledore, who was wearing a faint smile as he listened. "Where you working?"

"Cave Creek, Arizona. Something's been grabbing tourists in the national park," Sam replied.

"Sounds like a bundle of fun. Listen, when you get back, tell your dad that I've got a possible job for him. It's pretty big and pretty bizarre, but there's pay behind it." Bobby was tempted to say more, but it was probably best that John get the details first, lest his sons blow it out of proportion.

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby."

"See ya around, Sam. Good luck, and keep that big brother of yours in check." Even if Sam wasn't head over heels for his first independent hunt, Bobby would bet his hat Dean was.

"Bye." The dial tone sounded.

"Cave Creek, Arizona," Bobby said, setting the phone down. "They'll be staying in a motel. I'd hurry before they're in the wind again. Word o' warning, though, John's a stubborn ass. You're in for a rough ride."

Dumbledore smiled again as he stood up. "I must once again owe you my thanks, Bobby. And I'll keep your words in mind."

Bobby held up a hand. "One more thing 'fore you go. You seem like an okay guy, just lookin' for help. But if you do anything sideways with that family, if you hurt 'em or mind wipe 'em, there's gonna be hell to pay, especially if you harm those boys. Am I clear?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled with honesty and no small amount of respect. "I wouldn't dream of it, Bobby. They obviously mean a great deal to you. I promise, no harm will come to them from me."

The hunter could detect no lies, so he nodded in acceptance to the wizard.

"Until next time, Bobby Singer." With a loud crack, Dumbledore vanished into thin air.

Bobby allowed himself a moment to process the peculiar meeting before getting up, needing a glass of Jack. He now had to reconcile himself to the fact that, sooner or later, he was going to be getting a visit from a very pissed off John Winchester. He looked forward to the event as much as he would a root canal in a rickety pickup truck. Oh well, he thought as he took a gulp. At least he would get to see the boys again.

* * *

_A/N: Well, Sam made a sort of appearance this time, but next chapter we're getting the full trio. And congrats to everythingwillbeperfect for guessing right. Gotta love Bobby._

_As always, thank you to everyone who has followed or favorite-d this story, and a special thanks to __**everythingwillbeperfect, Wanderstar, musicalgryffindor, **__and __**RaawrTastic **__for their reviews. It's always great receiving them; they're great motivation to write fast, they're good picker-uppers, and I'm always looking to improve with constructive criticism._

_Until next update, au revoir :)_


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Cave Creek, Arizona_

Dean Winchester loved himself a challenge, or at least, the right kind of challenge. When overcoming an obstacle meant keeping his ass planted in a hard seat and pouring over dry textbooks about French revolutions and whoever the hell made whatever the hell legislature, he wasn't exactly doing cartwheels about it. But when he actually got to get outside with a gun in his hand and adrenaline pumping through his veins, challenge got a lot more fun. And for all of his bitching about it, Dean had to admit that Dad wasn't coddling them, which he appreciated. It almost made up for the brain-melting hours he and Sam had spent with their asses grafted to hard library chairs. Then again, they couldn't really avoid it. The only reason it had taken so long to find the culprit was because it wasn't exactly native.

"So, what is this thing again?" Dean asked, keeping his eyes on the road. The sun was going down, his eyes were sore from pouring through dusty books and web searches, and he didn't want to risk the Impala any more than necessary.

"A Timara Quinkan, only really found in the Australian Outback," Sam replied, looking down at the book again. Little nerd could be at that shit for hours and still have steam. "They're typically peaceful, actually help guide lost children from local tribes back home, but this one seems more on the pissed side."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's just great. Not only do we get all the regulars, now they're importing them in from Australia?"

Sam shrugged. "The MO matches the type of abilities this thing should have. Like I said, the book says they're normally pretty mellow, but it also says they can get nasty if disturbed. They also attach themselves to something in nature, like a lake or a tree. So, maybe, someone took whatever it was attached to, had it shipped to the States as lumber or decoration, and then the spirit settled in the nearby park. Now it's just venting on hikers."

Dean nodded, lips thin. "I feel for the freak, I really do, now how do we kill it?"

Sam huffed, shutting the book. "Doesn't say. But at least now we know what we're looking for. We can figure it out tomorrow." They both let out quiet breaths of relief.

Dean beat out a rhythm against the familiar leather of the Impala's wheel, relishing the freedom. Now this place was much more his style. No downpours, no cloud cover, no being confined to the motel room for a majority of the time. Out here, the country was wide, the roads were long, and with a job for just him and Sam, he felt even freer. Plus, he'd always liked the desert environment for some reason. He had to remember to ask Dad if they could manage to swing by the Grand Canyon.

He pulled into the Red Rock Motel in a good mood. They were getting close to finishing this thing, he had managed to get Sammy the Sourpuss to sing along with him during the ride, and this motel just so happened to have a hot tub. Dean knew how he was going to spend the rest of his evening. He was whistling as he and Sam headed for their room.

Then he froze, a stiff arm shooting out and stopping Sam in what was more an unintentional clothesline than a warning gesture. Sam spluttered and glared for a minute, before he also caught their father's angry growl coming from inside. In almost perfect synchronization, they split apart, Sam slipping up to the window of their room while Dean headed back to the car for their weapons.

Sam caught his sawed-off with ease as Dean took position by the door, his .45 handgun at the ready. "There's someone in there with Dad. He's got his dangerous voice going," Sam whispered.

So that meant Dad was on guard from a perceived threat, or just very very pissed off. Not good either way, but better to be on the safe side. He motioned Sam to the other side of the door, meaning his little brother would follow after him when he busted in. They both tensed as Dean reached for the doorknob with one hand, the other counting down from three.

Their entrance, Dean reflected, probably looked pretty impressive. He and Sam slammed through the doorway, falling instantly into shoulder-to-shoulder stance with guns aimed at the threat. However, their stupid blinking and confused faces probably ruined the whole thing as they took in the scene. There was some ancient dude with a long-ass beard and glasses, wearing a _freaking robe_ of all things, standing in their room. He looked severely out of place next to the desert-themed décor and the large sombrero lamp on the desk. Their father, while looking less than cheery about the situation, had his weapon lowered and was looking at them in a way that was both approving and slightly amused.

The awkward little standoff lasted until Dean decided he wanted a little clarification. "Um…what the hell?" He motioned between Dad and the weirdo with his gun, making sure to click the safety on. Sam, probably still trying to climb over the mental bizarreness block, just nodded with semi-aware agreement. Neither lowered their weapons.

Dad turned his dark gaze on Sam. "Sam, you told me yesterday that Bobby called about a job?"

Glancing over, Dean saw Sam put on the defensive face, the one that showed up whenever he suspected Dad was about to get on his case. "Yeah," he said warily.

Dad sighed deeply. "If this isn't some giant hoax, then this is our client." He motioned at the old guy.

Dean raised an eyebrow, caught between laughing and questioning his father's sanity. "What, they got a haunting out at Barnum and Bailey's?" Sam elbowed him in the ribs for that. It was lucky for Dean that Robe Guy didn't seem to get it; he seemed amused and delighted by their unexpected presence.

"Bobby spoke quite highly of the two of you. It is a pleasure," Robe Guy said with a pleasant shine in his blue eyes. "Although, you're a bit younger than I had expected."

Dean didn't know what to do other than give the guy an awkward, sarcastic grin before turning back to Dad. "Are you serious?"

Dad nodded, looking exasperated now. "Trust me, I've already been through this routine. Now lower your weapons, boys, before someone from cleaning service walks by and spots you."

Well, he wasn't pulling their legs. Like Dad ever would. Dean lowered his weapon, Sam following his lead a little slower. On Dad's command, Dean also shut the door in order to prevent the cleaning service scenario from becoming a reality.

Once the door was closed, Sam and Dean looked expectantly at the older men. Dad looked for a second like he was going to try and explain, but instead just motioned at the old man to take it away. The guy was happy to oblige. "As I was explaining to your father, your friend Bobby Singer highly recommended your family for a rather large job back in England. We are having a widespread demon problem that needs to be dealt with, as well as the need for a protection detail for a certain individual who will be attending Hogwarts."

Dean snorted. "Hogwarts? What's that, some kinda underground geek festival?"

Robe Guy's lips twitched at the corners a bit. "As a matter of fact, Hogwarts is a school of magic."

And they were right back into danger mode. Guns were out again, pointing right for the skull. "You're a witch?" Sam hissed while Dean glared. He would cap a monster on any day of the week, but witches were a special case of nasty. Not to mention gross, with the dead rabbits, maggots, body fluids, and Christ, he just remembered how much he despised these things. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Robe Guy was pretty calm, considering the sudden outpouring of homicidal inclination pointed at him, not to mention the guns. "I apologize. By this point I should know to lead with a clarification. Yes, I use magic, but I am not of the same breed of magic user that you are accustomed to, at least from what I have inferred. I have not been unfortunate enough to meet one of their kind."

Again, the boys turned to their father for confirmation. Dad nodded. "He's telling the truth. Bobby's told me before about these kinds. They use wands, not power gained from a deal."

Sam screwed up his face. "How come you never told us about them?"

"Wasn't necessary for you to know."

Honestly, Sam should have expected that. Dean didn't know why Sam kept getting bugged by Dad just being Dad.

Dad, meanwhile, turned back to the guy. "Dumbledore, right?"

Robe Guy nodded, and Dean was once again caught between asking if he was serious and busting a gut. Anyway, Dad continued talking to Dumbledore, too professional to react to the weird name, or else it just flew right over his head. The guy wasn't exactly in touch with his humorous side. "Even if you aren't the typical witch, I still don't see why we should trust you, and why you can't just deal with these problems yourself. I've heard stories about your societies, and they aren't exactly welcoming to people like us."

"I can certainly understand your hesitation. I would give you my word that you wouldn't be under threat of any harm from any of my allies, though you have no reason to trust it. But demons are almost completely unknown in magical society, and even if I was to take back knowledge with me, it would not compare to the experience of someone who has dealt with them before," Dumbledore explained. "I have detailed the situation as much as I can, Mr. Winchester, and at this time I believe it would be best for me to depart and allow you time to consider. As I said, I'm willing to pay for your services, and provide your means of travel and supply, which I hope plays a part in your decision. I shall return tomorrow evening."

Sam and Dean jumped when the guy just disappeared with a loud crack, but Dean got over it quickly and moved directly into the annoyed stage. "Well, don't go over things on our account. Isn't he asking for all three of us?"

Dad dropped his weapon on the bed, sitting down heavily. "Yes, he is." Dad probably would have gone deep into thought if the brothers hadn't set to pestering before he was too far gone. It took a few minutes before he caved and told them everything about their potential job: the magic world, the 'Dark Lord', the demon thing, the kid who needed watching over, the whole shebang. Dean thought it sounded right out of a fantasy book.

Sam frowned when Dad finished. "Are you considering it?" The kid sounded like he was stuck between disbelief and anticipation. Dean was kind of surprised. He figured Sam would have held up the two-fingered cross on what sounded like a whale of a hunt, seeing as he was cruising through this one with only medium tolerance. Maybe the whole magic angle had captured his interest.

Dad tossed a hard look in Sam's direction. "This Dumbledore hasn't given us any reason to trust him or his followers. I admit the demon problem is something to be concerned about, but I'm not up to volunteering us in some goddamn magic war that has nothing to do with us. We fight enough battles on our own without getting involved in more. If we need to, then we'll take care of the demons on our own terms."

Sam choked disbelievingly. "Handle a nationwide demon uprising by ourselves? You've only let us tag along on two demon hunts before, and those bastards were hard enough on their own, let alone a legion of them."

"Watch your language," Dad said in accordance with the usual 'do as I say, not as I do' routine. Dean liked to consider it more 'do what you want, just not in front of me'. He and Sammy had been letting fly with words that got them sent to detention since they each hit fifth grade.

"Besides," Sam went on, "they're kind of at the center of the problem; it makes more sense allying with them than trying to get around on our own."

Dean watched silently as Sam and Dad started their bickering match in earnest. He was honestly on the fence about the whole thing. On the personal side, he was with Dad. He didn't feel particularly inclined to be scratching any wizard's back, no matter what kind they were, or leaving the familiarity of life on the road. Plus, he just didn't want to think about going to England in general. It was rainy and unfamiliar, and the whole idea implied having to fly there, and Dean really hoped it wouldn't come to that. But on the logical side, Sam had a point. Demons were mean sons of bitches; attacking an uprising with only the three of them seemed reckless, even for Dad.

And what about that kid, Harry what's-his-name? He wasn't much older than Sammy, according to Dad. Even with almost every reason for him and his family to label this shit 'not their problem' and go on their merry way, Dean couldn't quite justify leaving some kid twisting in the wind.

When Dean finally tuned back in, Dad and Sam were still reinforcing their own opinions. Dad was massaging the bridge of his nose, voice strained almost to breaking point. "Look, Sam, the fact is we'd be stepping into unknown territory that we have no way of scoping out first, with people that aren't exactly trustworthy. Maybe they aren't all bad, but they still think of us as lesser beings. I don't know why this Dumbledore is looking for our help in the first place; they probably wouldn't even listen to us."

Dean snorted, and then bit back a cuss as he realized he'd just inserted himself into this discussion. Dad and Sam turned to look at him. He shrugged. "No one listens to us. It's kind of a whole thing with hunters, that no one believes us and think we're criminals that belong on the funny farm, isn't it? But we still do our job to help people, don't we?"

Sam's mouth twitched into a grin, but Dad's expression grew a bit darker. "We help people who can't help themselves because they don't know what they're up against. Once these wizards think they've got the gist, do you think they'll believe they owe us anything?"

"Don't know," Dean admitted. "But like Sam said, the demons are the bigger problem here, so 'enemy of my enemy' and all that. And there's that kid. I don't really wanna go, but it doesn't feel right leaving some guy younger than me to be some demon's chew toy either."

The room fell silent. Crap. Impasse. Dean guessed this was going to keep them up a lot longer than expected. And there went any hope of making it out to the hot tub tonight.

* * *

The image of the Headmaster of Hogwarts languishing in a ratty motel a few towns over from Cave Creek would probably send his students into fits of astonished amusement. After all, Dumbledore found the situation rather entertaining himself. Granted, the muggle clothes he wore when not meeting with the hunters lessened the humor somewhat, but he enjoyed it as it was.

At the moment, though, his thoughts were elsewhere. The afternoon sun outside was growing lower, and his second meeting with the Winchester family was drawing closer.

To be honest, Dumbledore didn't hold much hope of receiving their help. John Winchester had indeed been as hostile as most of the others at the outset, although he seemed considerably more dangerous. Dumbledore had made sure to prepare the man for his unusual revelations, because he wasn't completely confident in his ability to dodge the man if he decided to fire on him, but even after John had calmed down, he had still been untrusting.

As for John Winchester's sons, Dumbledore could see where at least some of Bobby Singer's admiration came from. They acted as soldiers, well-trained and team-oriented. He hadn't been lying, though, when he said they were much younger than he had expected. He had thought of them as around Bill Weasley's age, not as teenagers who still looked young enough to attend Hogwarts. He would have been disapproving of Mr. Winchester training children so young if he wasn't painfully aware of how he was doing something very similar with Harry.

Maybe, he considered, he should call it off. Grown men or women volunteering for this job was what he'd hoped for, not a man and his children. It was bad enough with Harry, could he honestly drag more young people just reaching adulthood into this when it wasn't even their war?

Still pondering, he paced to the small grate that served as a fireplace. Drawing powder from a concealed pouch at his hip, the wizard threw it into the grate. Green flames roared upward despite the absence of wood or kindling.

"Minerva McGonagall," he called into the fire. It took a few moments before the face of the Deputy Headmistress wavered into being within the flames.

"Dumbledore." She greeted him with relief in her voice. "Please tell me that you have answers." That was Minerva, never one to waste time with platitudes.

"I believe I do, Minerva. At the moment, I'm waiting on word from some experts I have found on whether they can assist us. Whether or not they agree, I believe I will be back within the next few days."

McGonagall sighed in relief. "That's good. It's becoming difficult to keep the Order in, well, order. After all, we have members like Moody, Sirius Black, and Fletcher to deal with. Some answers would no doubt do wonders for restoring some balance. What is it that you've been investigating, Albus?" she asked imploringly.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I believe it best that that conversation be left until my return. I imagine it will cause much discussion and disbelief."

The stern woman's lips tightened. "The situation has gotten worse, hasn't it?" It wasn't stated like a question.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," the Headmaster admitted.

McGonagall nodded, her iron resolve showing on her face. "Well, whatever results from your search, try and make it back soon. Potter especially needs reassurance, what with everything that's happened."

"Of course," he promised as her image vanished.

Once again he contemplated just heading back to England, trying to spread the necessary knowledge of demons on his own, doing his best to prepare the Order members and Harry for facing an unknown foe. He considered how many people might be lost to these creatures.

No, he couldn't risk it. Harry was too important, the Order was too important to leave their safety up to limited knowledge. As much as he had learned to be wary of the concept of the greater good, Dumbledore believed that in this case, if the Winchesters agreed, he would accept their help no matter the two boys' ages. Voldemort couldn't win.

The sky was turning orange and purple outside, so it was about time he went to receive his answer anyway.

By now, he knew not to apparate inside. The lights glowed from behind the window curtain when he arrived outside, so he only had to knock. John Winchester let him in, looking grim, and Dumbledore couldn't read his answer from his face. The younger boy sat on one of the beds, while the older leaned against the wall.

Dumbledore waited while loaded glances were cast between the small family, before the father finally spoke in his rumbling voice, and his answer was not what Dumbledore had expected.

"Let us finish this hunt and wrap a few things up. Then we'll help you."

The wizard couldn't help his smile of gratitude. "I'm glad and grateful to hear it. I know this decision must be a great test of trust, and I swear it will not be abused. You may be our only hope against this demonic threat."

John only grunted in response, but Dumbledore didn't mind. He cast a quick glance at the boys, who both looked determined, and internally swore to keep his promise. He wouldn't allow their trust to be violated, nor this family to be harmed.

"I will leave all arrangements with Bobby Singer when you are ready. Once I have them prepared, I must return to England. The thanks of the wizarding world are with you." With that, he apparated away. He had work to do.

Back in the motel room, the Winchesters were silent, all three wondering what kind of new insanity they had signed up for.

* * *

_A/N: Only two more shortish chapters before two worlds collide :)_

_I wanted to ask, would you readers like me to do PM replies? It wouldn't be for every review, since I do 'thank yous' in these author notes, but if you have questions, is this something you would prefer? Let me know. _

_A big thanks to all followers and favoriters, and special thanks to __**esperanza100**__, __**Wanderstar**__, __**FrostyKoala**__, __**GreekMythGuardian**__, and __**musicalgryffindor **__for their reviews. _


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Harry couldn't move. He didn't want to. He didn't want to move, or breathe, because it was in his room. He could smell the beast, the bitter cocktail of blood, ash, and animal stench filling up the black room. He could hear it growling. Harry bit his lip, the only action he could muster. Ron was in the next bed, still sleeping. How could he not smell the thing, hear its giant paws scratching over the floor? It should be right by the foot of Ron's bed.

No. No, not Ron. Not like this. Cedric had been bad enough, but Harry didn't think he could bear losing Ron to such a bloody, terrifying end like the one that waited at the end of this monster's claws and teeth. He kept thinking this, but he couldn't move himself from his huddled position under the thick covers, giving all he had to just mold into the bed and disappear.

_"__Go away. Please, please just go away!"_ His internalized pleas were ignored as the mattress dipped under a great weight. The smell became overwhelming, and even through the thick fabric of his covers, Harry could see the blood-red eyes looming over him. He let out a squeak, refusing to scream, even now as the creature had him cornered.

The deep growl morphed slowly into a murderous chuckle. _"Nowhere to hide, Harry."_

The covers were torn away, and Harry let out a desperate gasp. This was it.

"Harry!"

He blinked confusedly at the sudden voice change. Instead of that awful voice that sounded somewhat like Voldemort's but at the same time not, this voice sounded like a girl's. Hermione's voice, to be exact. She was hissing urgently, going so far as to shake his shoulder. Not that he wasn't shaking enough on his own. He was damp with sweat, and he could still feel his heart pounding.

"Harry, wake up!" Hermione hadn't seemed to notice his current state, which Harry was grateful for. Now that he was fully aware of waking from another one of his nightmares, Harry did a quick scan about his and Ron's room, just to calm himself down. As it should be, there was no unseen monster, no red eyes, and Ron was blearily coming to in the next bed. The redhead didn't seem pleased at being woken. The only thing that could be classified as unusual was the sound of a thunderstorm raging over the roof.

"Really, Hermione? It's still pitch black outside," Ron grumbled, already rolling over and snuggling beneath the blankets.

Hermione, however, was not discouraged, and once the two boys heard what she had to say, they could see why.

"Dumbledore's back. He's downstairs now, calling an Order meeting. Fred and George have the Extendable Ears at the ready. They think since it's so late, they might not bother putting up the wards, so we might catch something." Hermione wasn't the greatest advocate of their spying, but an opportunity like this was too much for even her to pass up, it seemed.

Harry flung aside his covers, the lingering tremble in his hands pushed aside. Dumbledore was back, and Harry _needed _answers, whether Dumbledore was willing to provide them or not.

* * *

Sirius clenched his fists, trying to contain his impatience as the various yawning members of the Order leaked into the kitchen, all moving cautiously and quietly. Sirius didn't much see the point. Knowing his godson and the Weasley twins, the scamps were probably lying in wait to listen with those ear things, and Sirius wasn't inclined to let the others know about his suspicions. Molly might strongly disagree, or think Sirius a poor guardian for it, but he believed it was Harry's right to know what was going on. He might not be able to get the boy into the meetings proper, but he could look the other way as the young'uns went about it on their own.

At last, the door swung shut behind the skulking Snape, and every head turned to their leader. Dumbledore's face was pensive, and he was silent for several minutes. Sirius was on the verge of moving this along with a loaded cough when Dumbledore finally spoke. "In this case, I believe it best I start with the bad news first. We are in much more dire straits than we had first believed. Voldemort has summoned a force against us that we have very little knowledge of or experience with."

_"__Perfect. Just perfect," _Sirius thought. That was the only constant they got, it seemed, that the situation only ever got worse. The Dark Lord was on the move, he was cooped up in this dark hole for the foreseeable future, the Ministry had their heads stuck firmly up their arses, and now Voldemort had a whole new force on his side that had it out for the Order and Harry.

An impatient growl came from one Mad-Eye Moody. His large blue eye, which normally swiveled about in his head with no rhyme or reason, was fixed on Dumbledore. "Enough with the dramatics, Albus. If we're facing some new, unkillable beast or a host of foreign supporters, I'd prefer you'd just tell us so we can figure out how to deal with it."

Dumbledore folded his hands. "I ask you all to bear with me. I imagine many of you won't readily accept this, but believe me, this is very real."

Unconsciously, Sirius leaned forward a bit, and outside the meeting room, the lowered Extendable Ear practically twitched from transmitted anticipation from the listeners upstairs.

* * *

_On the road, Wyoming_

Sam yawned sleepily, despite the bright sun shining through the Impala's windows. He could do with a snooze, but Dean was snoring away loudly in the passenger seat, making it a little difficult. Sam wanted to clock him out of sheer, exhausted jealousy. He and Dean had finished their hunt only yesterday afternoon, and he was still worn out. Mad scrambles through prickly brush and getting tossed around by a gangly spirit with a wicked grip didn't make for a relaxing nature hike through the park. The creepy bruising on his arms in the shape of unnaturally long, skinny fingers guaranteed Sam would be wearing long sleeves for a while.

That very same evening, the Winchesters picked up out of Cave Creek and headed for South Dakota, which constituted a straight, twenty-two hour drive with no real stops, making the fatigue a shit-ton worse. But, according to Dad, he'd be damned if he walked them into this situation without being as prepared as humanly possible. Bobby was the largest standing repository of demon knowledge that they knew, and he also had more info on these wizard types. Dad had explained that he knew a few stories, but not nearly enough to put him anywhere close to being good with this.

Sam, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel a weird excitement about the whole thing. Sure, he wasn't totally trusting of these wizards, that would just be stupid, but the fact that it would mean going to England and exploring a whole new kind of culture was kind of thrilling. It felt much more like an adventure than he was used to. Most people would say that Sam's life seemed adventurous enough, but the life of a hunter wasn't nearly as…well, romantic as it sounded. They traveled a lot and saved people, but they did it with no pay, crappy lodgings, a surprising amount of boring information scouring and stakeouts, more fear than fun, and growing up feeling like such an outsider left Sam with an empty feeling in his gut. Oh, and don't forget the exhaustion. Sam gave a half-hearted kick to the back of Dean's seat, scowling petulantly. The big jerk just grunted and rolled to face the window, smacking his lips.

Oh well. They weren't that far out from Bobby's at this point, three hours at most. He could catch some shut-eye there. Until then, he could occupy himself with wondering what weird things they were going to encounter in a world of magic.

* * *

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

The Order was silent. Dumbledore sat patiently, waiting for some kind of response to his telling of his findings.

Sirius was the first. He let out a bark of disbelieving laughter that sounded a bit forced. "You can't be serious! Demons? Those mythological creatures some muggles believe in? Come now, if they existed, then we would have some knowledge of them. Did you actually see one?"

"No, Sirius, I did not. However, I did encounter several people who have."

Sirius' mouth snapped shut. Once again, the atmosphere in the kitchen grew tense. This was different, real accounts rather than evidence retrieved from books. Still, Sirius couldn't quite bring himself to believe it yet. How could such creatures exist and manifest throughout the world without the wizarding community being aware of them?

Arthur Weasley spoke next, both curiosity and fear in his words. "If we have little knowledge of demons and their nature, who does know about them?"

A glint returned to the Headmaster's blue eyes. "Now this is where things become interesting. In my searching, I unexpectedly stumbled across a whole other hidden world, not unlike our own, entire communities spread across the globe that I had never heard of. These people have awareness of many things the wizarding world has not heard of, demons being one of these. And here is where the good news lies. I not only gained clarity, but I also gained the help of experts who are willing to come here and help us neutralize this threat."

The whole Order was buzzing now, throwing out questions about whether that was safe, when they would arrive, and what kinds of wizards they were. Sirius remained silent, still not quite believing, but he wanted answers just as much.

Dumbledore's lips twitched at the corner. "I believe I should answer a particular question first, as I think it will cause the most discussion. These experts are not any kind of wizard. They are muggles."

The uproar returned with a vengeance.

* * *

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Dean munched away at his sandwich, keeping an ear out for the end of Dad and Bobby's little shouting match they were hashing out outside while occasionally twitching an eye toward Sam, who had conked out on the other side of the table. Didn't matter that they'd signed up for the job, Dad was still pissed about the older hunter tipping their location. Dean didn't care much; he knew Bobby wouldn't have done it if there were any chance of real danger. He wasn't too worried. The old guys would squall it out for a bit and then be back in, same as always.

He leaned back, peering around affectionately. As much as Dean loved the open road, no place had ever felt quite so much like home as Bobby's house did, full of ancient books, weapons, and dust. Seeing as this had been a regular stay-over of his and Sam's since Dean was eight, it wasn't that big of a surprise. Back when they were kids, whenever Dad encountered a hunt that would take him longer than the typical week or so, this was where the brothers would end up. Dean had accumulated quite a stock of memories here: when Bobby played catch with him for the first time, that one Christmas two years ago when they got snowed-in by that blizzard, when Sam got that raging flu, the time Bobby caught Dean and one of the local girls appropriating one of his old junkers for…well, that was certainly memorable, but Dean would personally rather forget it, as well as the verbal tanning Bobby had given him for it. Now it seemed he was going to be adding something new to the list, which would be learning everything they could about wizards and demons for this crazy-ass job. Dean groaned, his appetite decreasing rapidly. He let his sandwich fall to the plate with a pathetic plop.

Dean straightened when it went quiet a few minutes later. The front door swung open, admitting the two older men inside, Dad still looking pretty steamed about the whole thing. Bobby didn't look much better, but his expression got more cheerful when he saw the boys, Sam jerking awake and giving him a disoriented wave as Dean saluted snarkily.

"Still sproutin' like a weed, Dean?" Bobby said with a grin, patting the older boy on the shoulder as he went for a glass of water. Probably had voice strain from all that yelling. Dean grinned with satisfaction, and couldn't help but take a shot at his brother. "Yep, but I can't say the same for poor Sammy." Dean could practically hear the cranks coming from his brother's head as he rolled his eyes. He wondered if they would just roll out of Sam's head one day with the frequency he was doing that lately.

"Don't get too cocky," Bobby warned. "You were a late bloomer yourself. Keep talking like that, and Sam's gonna pass ya out of sheer spite."

Dean didn't even need to dignify that with a comment. It wasn't like it could ever happen.

Dad, as opposed to the other three, wasn't one to tolerate chatting when a job was lined up, especially one like this. Dean had actually expected him to interrupt sooner. "I'd rather we get right down to business, Bobby. I don't know when this Dumbledore expects us to get there, and I want as much info as possible before we jump into this."

"You got four days," Bobby said, opening a drawer and pulling out what looked like plane tickets. It took Dean's most stalwart effort to keep the horror out of his face. Goddammit. Bobby continued, thankfully oblivious to Dean eyeing the tickets as if they were deadly cobras. "By the way, trying to help a wizard order these things ain't no cakewalk. Might have magic, but they can be pretty damn clueless at the same time. Sounds like something you'd probably want to know, John. It isn't just demon info you want."

John straightened in attention. "The last thing I'm gonna do is walk in there blind, with the wizards or the demons, especially since Sam and Dean are coming along. Whatever we can cover in four days, we need to know."

Dean, who was about to move into his senior year of high school, was strongly reminded of cramming for end-of-year exams, which typically wasn't a good thing. Still, this was for the sake of a hunt, and not only that, probably the biggest hunt of their family's career to date and likely the only one they were ever going to get paid for. Dean might not have been the research buff that his brother was, but it didn't mean he was a slouch, or all for shotgunning this type of thing. Demons were nothing to be screwing around with; sadistic little shitheads that could body-hop and be a lot trickier than most would like. He also had to agree with Dad on the wizard side of things. Dumbledore and some of his allies might be on the up-and-up, but the wizard himself had told them that this Voldemort crackpot wasn't the only magical person to watch out for. Oh no, book-weary or not, Dean was not about to get on that damned plane without every leg-up on this situation he could get.

Bobby had no argument. He retreated back into his library, beginning to rifle through the numerous stacks of tomes and volumes. The Winchester family couldn't suppress subtle winces as he just kept on pulling out giant books that could be secondarily classified as footstools and possible murder weapons. Bobby shot them a smirk. "I think these are a good place to start for now. At least, once we cover the Key of Solomon."

"What's that?" Sam asked, his voice dull with sleepiness. Dean felt bad for the kid. It didn't look like he'd be getting a proper lie down any time soon.

Bobby pointed upward to the elaborate circular sigil that marked his ceiling. "Also called a devil's trap, and that's a pretty complex and powerful version. Demons walk into it and can't walk out again unless the trap's broken. Trust me, it's gonna be pretty damn useful. After that, we'll see how much we can cover in four days."

Dean could feel a long night coming on.

* * *

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

"You can't be serious!" Sirius cried out over all the other voices clamoring to give their opinion on Dumbledore's unexpected course of action. "What could muggles do against such creatures when you act as if we are helpless against them?" He had gone along with Dumbledore's plan so far, but this seemed like too much. Internally, Sirius felt some guilt, knowing that he was probably emulating his bigoted mother more than a little, but the only kind of muggles he could think of were folks like Harry's relatives: oblivious and without understanding of the wizard world. Even if his vision of these "experts" was incorrect, how could muggles hope to protect his godson or anyone else?

Sirius wasn't alone. For the first time in months, he and Molly Weasley were in agreement on something, though she also seemed guilty about voicing her doubts about these people's ability to fight these creatures. Alastor was bellowing about the safety risks such presences would present, and old Snivellus was doing what he did best and was sneering away. Everyone else was a mixture of disbelief, curiosity, and even a little disdain.

Dumbledore didn't bother to silence them this time, waiting for everyone to settle and wait for their answers before speaking. "I understand your doubts, but believe me, I have seen the capability of hunters, as they are called. They are muggles who have seen the hidden world that we are familiar with, and even parts we aren't, and they elect to fight against its darker side. I have learned by experience not to underestimate them. Whether or not you can trust my word, they have knowledge of demons that we do not, and I have hired some of their best to assist us against Voldemort's new allies. They will be arriving in just a few days."

Sirius clenched his fists. Once again, it was a situation where they had no choice but to go with Dumbledore's judgment. No doubt the man was capable, but it was feeling less and less like a combined effort in this fight and more like Albus Dumbledore and his cronies. Sirius could only hope for all their sakes that the old man had made a good call, and that these supposed hunters were all he proclaimed them to be. Sirius, however, would wait to see proof with his own eyes what these muggles were really capable of. His hopes were not high.

* * *

Around about the hour of three in the morning, the resident teenagers of Order HQ retreated back to their rooms, or at least Harry and Ron's room. It had been twenty minutes since they had caught anything aside from the sound of whispers over the Extendable Ears, and even though Fred and George were still manning stations just in case, the other four doubted anything else would come their way tonight.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat quietly, trying to make sense of what they had managed to catch. It was only when the Order shouted or occasionally when Dumbledore was speaking that they could make anything out. Still, they had managed to catch the gist; Dumbledore knew what was causing the recent insanity in the wizarding world, and he had managed to find somebody capable of dealing with it who just so happened to be muggles.

Ron was the first to speak. "Sounds bloody ridiculous to me. I mean, demons? Dumbledore can't possibly think they're real."

Hermione's expression was dark, her hands twisting together as she gnawed on her lower lip. "Well, we can't be sure, can we?"

Ron gaped. "You too? Come on, Hermione! Out of all the books you've read, have you ever found any proof of demons?"

Hermione's face twitched into the frustrated look she wore whenever she couldn't give a solid answer to a direct question. "Solid proof, no. The wizarding world doesn't really have religion of any kind as an established institution, so the concept isn't taken too seriously. Still, there are accounts of them all over the world."

"Most of which came from muggles," Ron pointed out. "No offense or anything!" he added swiftly at Hermione's venomous glare; she was Muggleborn, after all. "I'm just saying that they were probably seeing something they teach us about in Defense class, not demons or any nonsense like that."

"Well, then what has been doing this?" Hermione snapped back. "No creature we know of does this kind of thing. The disappearances, all the magical creatures going mental, the thing that attacked…" She stuttered off, casting a wary glance to Harry. Ron and Ginny copied her; Harry had been unusually wired lately, and they were never sure what might set off his temper.

Harry, however, had not been paying attention in the slightest. His conscious was still hovering at the stairway bannister, and also down below among the gathered Order members, churning through everything they had heard. Everything they had heard only because of their own initiative and the twins' perpetual need to break rules.

Harry's fists clenched. Demons. Other secret communities apart from the magical world. Muggle experts.

And no one had told him.

If what Dumbledore said was true, one of these theological monsters had gone after him, apparently on Voldemort's orders, and they were _still _keeping him in the dark as if he were still a child. Did they all think so little of him? He had faced Voldemort _three times _already, every time without any help, aside from Fawkes in the Chamber of Secrets, but somehow he wasn't worthy of this information? A pit of fire flared in his stomach, compressing his chest and causing his fingernails to dig deep grooves into his palms.

"Harry?"

He was jarred from his furious brooding by Ginny's clear voice. He looked up into three pairs of eyes watching him questioningly. "What do you think?" Ron asked hesitantly.

Still not totally on track with the others, Harry only shrugged. Whether he believed this or not, it wasn't like they could do much about it. It wasn't like they would be _allowed _to do anything about it, either.

Out of all of them, Ginny seemed most on track with Harry's thinking. "Whether we believe it or not, the only thing we can do is trust Dumbledore and these experts he has coming." She seemed the most curious and open out of the four.

"Muggles. Still can't believe it," Ron muttered, shaking his head.

"Just don't jump to conclusions, Ron," Hermione warned. "Not every non-magic person is like Harry's relatives, or totally oblivious. If Dumbledore thinks they're so capable, we'd better not underestimate them."

Now that was something Harry could get behind. If he could do nothing else, he would be on his guard. Voldemort, these supposed demons, or mysterious muggles; it didn't matter. Harry wasn't going to be caught unawares again.

Harry said many a silent thanks that his friends were talking again and weren't looking at him, because he couldn't restrain a great flinch when he swore he heard a deep rumble, like a sinister and cruel laugh, echo in his ears.

_"__Don't be so sure of yourself, Harry Potter."_

* * *

_A/N: Okay, back after a bout of break because of real life being a bitch. Wow, that was some stellar alliteration there. Not my favorite chapter, so I might go back and adjust, but for now this is as good as I can make it._

_Alright, so someone pointed this out in a review, so I thought I'd clarify. Yes, the timeline for Harry Potter is shifted back two years, so OotP is taking place in 1997 rather than '95. This is one of the few alterations I'll be making to canon beyond this being a crossover, obviously, just so you all know. _

_A big thank you to all favoriters and followers, and special thanks to all reviewers: __**Wanderstar, loveofharrypotter**__,__** esperanza100**__,__** Guest**__,__** Karla Colt**__,__** Beawr**__, __**Kitsune1818**__,__** brooke.h16**__, __**Sakura Mikan91**__,__** Naivaraeladrin**__,__** SoSking**__,and__** Band-Potter-Geek. **_


	8. Chapter 7

_A/N: Little language warning, because it's Dean._

* * *

Chapter 7

_Sioux Falls Regional Airport, South Dakota_

Fuck this. Seriously. Dean kept repeating this in his head, perhaps in some vague hope that his defiance against the act of defying gravity would provide some comfort. He might not be able to keep it up for nearly nine hours, not including stopovers, but he believed that the mere effort counted for something.

It didn't help matters that Sam was eyeing him from the next seat with that puppyish concerned face, not yet clued into the fact that Dean would rather stay the night in a Rawhead's nest rather than get on that fucking deathtrap idling just outside the passenger waiting area on the tarmac. It wouldn't take the kid long, though. Dean just hoped for his brother's sake that Sam would keep his mouth shut about it. If the time came for Dean to toss his cookies at some point in the upcoming flight, at least he knew where to aim if little brother started being a pain in the ass.

It took roughly ten more minutes of Dean squirming in his hard airport seat, growing steadily paler, and turning his hair into a rat's nest with nervous hand-combing for Sam to finally decide to say something about it. "You okay, Dean?"

Dean flipped through a mental Rolodex of appropriate responses. His top three were 'mind your damn business', 'yeah, dancing on rainbows, or 'are you fucking kidding me.' He decided on option three, with extra glare thrown in to make sure the message came through loud and clear. A scandalized twitter came from an elderly lady sitting behind them, and Dean had to admit he was impressed with the speed at which Granny vacated the area.

Sam pursed his lips. "What? You've got a problem with flying?"

Dean growled under his breath. Little twerp just wouldn't leave well enough alone. "Never been an issue until now."

Sam blinked and, oh God, here it came. "You…need something?"

"I'm fine, Sammy." He had to head this off at the pass before it got out of hand. Dean Winchester _did not_ need anyone holding his hand through a stupid flight because he got a little queasy. Although, a nice dose of sleeping pills would work wonders. Sadly, the Winchesters didn't often indulge in that luxury, so he could only hope that one of the coffees Dad had gone to get was decaf. Dear Lord, he really was turning into a pussy. He started going through everything they had learned and covered at Bobby's, because that was a decidedly un-pussy thing to do.

They had gone over lots of things they already knew about demons: salt, holy water, weaker demons couldn't tread on holy ground, the word 'christo' would cause a demon to show itself, exorcisms, all of the old classics. The devil's traps had been one of their central study points; both Bobby and Dad had enforced practicing drawing them at least ten times a day. Bobby had also shown them how to make certain charms and hexbags that could keep a demon from locating or possessing a person. Learning to do the hexbags had been more than a little gross, but if it was between that or having his intestines repurposed as a demon's scarf, Dean would put up with the woo-woo pouches and the general 'ick' of the situation.

Wizards had also gotten their fair share of the limelight. The general gist of them seemed to be that they lived in separate societies, had their own schools and government and such, and left regular people alone unless they let one of their magic items slip through or were one of those racist assholes Bobby mentioned. Apparently, this wannabe-Sauron the Dark Lord douchebag Voldemort fell under this camp as basically the wizard version of Hitler. Dean kind of hoped they'd get to take a crack at this loony. At least, once Bobby managed to get some weapons over to them. As good as they were, trying to smuggle a gun onto an airplane was just being stupid.

Dean stirred when Sam nudged him in the arm, motioning toward Dad's approaching form. They accepted their drinks gratefully as Dad sat down on Sam's other side. Dean took a sip. Black. It was going to be a long flight.

"Boys," John said in a low voice, using the tone that demanded their immediate attention. "I need to make sure you understand the seriousness of this job. Don't interrupt me, Sam," he growled, cutting the younger boy off. "This might seem like some adventure on the outside, or an entertaining challenge, but the fact is that we're going to have enemies on all sides. The demons, these dark wizards, their government; even some supporters on Dumbledore's side won't trust or accept us. You're already aware that demons are no laughing matter either. I need you two at your best, treating this like any other job: do what you need to, and stay focused on the mission. You got me?"

Dean nodded immediately, and Dad caught his eye for a second. There was a silent edict just for Dean in that look, one he'd seen a million times before and already knew by heart. _Look out for Sammy, Dean. _Sam nodded as well a second later.

_*Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin the boarding process for flight 207 to JFK International Airport, en route to London. First class passengers will be boarded first; if economy will please remain seated until announced…*_

The boarding announcement fizzled out somewhere in the middle, at least in Dean's ears. The coffee turned into a bitter witch's brew in his stomach, and the uncertain look Dad threw his way only made it worse.

Fuck this. Seriously.

Takeoff was absolute hell, and not just because of the whole 'about to leave the earth' thing. From the moment he sat down – aisle seat, of course – it seemed as though he had been pegged by every motherly type or fellow nervous flyer looking for some solidarity sitting in coach. Goddammit, he was a _monster hunter_, and even if he couldn't get rid of the burning desire to smash right through the side of the plane and take a swan dive off the wing and back onto pavement, at least he could take it like a man.

The two hours spent traveling from South Dakota to stopover in New York seemed to stretch into eternity. With every jolt of turbulence he would white-knuckle the armrests of his seat, clenching his teeth in a refusal to let anything close to scared-sounding sail past his lips. Dad was thankfully seated two rows ahead, so he couldn't see Dean, and he wanted to keep the man as unaware of his current state as possible. Enough poisonous glares had scared away his few sympathizers, and Sammy was keeping his mouth shut. Kid always was smart. The only upside to the flight was that Dean had managed to keep his stomach contents where they belonged, though it was a close thing. The stewardess waving that in-flight jerky in his face had no idea how close a scrape she had. They couldn't land at JFK fast enough.

God, two hours was bad enough, Dean thought miserably as he sat huddled beneath the painfully bright fluorescence of the terminal. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage the remaining seven and a half. The best he could do was to use the time that Sam was off getting a drink and Dad was in the bathroom to try and psych himself up again.

Jesus Christ on a unicycle, he was dizzy.

Walking onto that second plane felt like a walk to the electric chair, but as he sat down and let Sam squeeze over the window seat, Dean resigned himself to the suck situation. Nothing he could do about anyway. He just hoped that these wizards were preparing to fork over an assload of money for putting him through this.

An elbow nudged him, and his eyes shot open. "What, Sam?" he growled.

"Here," Sam said as he poked him again. Dean looked over to see Sam holding out a silvery bubble packet of what looked like…pills?

"Just take 'em, for everyone's sake," Sam urged. "Guy at the pharmacy said they should work long enough to get you through the flight."

Dean blinked uncomprehendingly.

Sam's lips thinned, and he shook the sleeping pills at him again. "C'mon, man, first flight made you look like you got food poisoning or something. And don't do the 'I'm fine' thing! Just go to sleep, and you should wake up when we're about there." He didn't seem in any mood for an argument.

Slowly, Dean took the packet, the faintest of smiles appearing on his face. Man, Sam sure had gotten pushy, but in a way Dean was kind of proud of. Kid was growing into his own. As much as Dean wasn't used to and didn't like being the one cared for, he wasn't about to reject the effort Sam had made to get the pills for him. Deep down, the gesture made him both proud and touched. Not that Dean would ever say that out loud, mind. He wasn't a chick. So he expressed his gratitude by giving the kid a slap on the back and downing two of the little chalky pieces of sweet relief, uttering a 'thank God for drugs' after he swallowed.

Before the plane even finished taxying along the runway, Dean was out like a light, his younger brother smiling as he watched the night fly by outside.

* * *

_London City Airport, London_

No matter what Dad said about staying professional, Sam still felt a swell of anticipation as the plane finally touched down at London City Airport. He could see the giant gray trail of the Thames nearby, the skyline above it crowded with old world architecture and towering cumulus clouds. A part of him longed to explore and see the famous sights, even if Dean did tease him for being such a tourist, but it sounded like this job wasn't going to allow for much wide-eyed pleasure gawking.

Sam used the time spent actually getting the plane up to the terminal to shake Dean awake, who woke blissful and a little dead-eyed. "W' therrre?" he slurred dozily.

The younger boy tried to choke a laugh. Dean's hair was completely smushed flat on one side while his signature spikes stuck up on the other side, and there was even a little drool at the corner of his mouth. He'd make fun of him later, though. "Yep. I'd wake up, dude; Dad's gonna want to get moving as soon as possible."

As always, that snapped Dean right to attention. By the time the passengers were let off the plane, he was up and following loyally just behind Dad as he always was.

The three Winchesters, or Caplans according to their passports, grabbed their bags and got out of the terminal as soon as possible. Dad had briefed both Dean and Sam thoroughly on his plan for when they landed. The wizards were expecting them sometime today, but they had no exact time. Rather than heading straight there, Dad would find them their own place, likely a cheap hotel or hostel within a few miles' radius of the wizards' location. Dean and Sam would rest up, eat, and make sure they were in the best possible condition if the situation got hairy, while Dad went out to see about acquiring some weapons, just in case. They'd rent out whatever room they got for the next couple days, just in case relations turned sour and they needed to fall back somewhere.

Sam spent their wending cab ride through the rambling streets of London peering out the window, marveling at the differences between this city and every other he'd seen in his well-traveled life. For one, the streets were all goddamn over the place, shooting off in every direction with no particular order, and the buildings looked a lot more artful. Plus, there was the driving on the left side of the road thing. Overall, the whole place just felt different. For the first time, Sam really felt that they were outside of their usual territory and experience. As much as Dad drove him crazy these days, he could see the sense in being cautious.

They managed to find a room in a small hotel, which was really just a converted house, not far from King's Cross Road. It was much nicer than their usual accommodations, and it was a bit of a shame that it was only a backup.

Dad disappeared within minutes of tossing their bags down, and Dean made a beeline for the shower. Sam, meanwhile, sat down on one of the beds and dug out one of the books Bobby had sent with them on some of the more useful demon knowledge. Knowing his enemy had always reassured Sam, but at the moment his mind was more focused on the wizards. Supernatural beings that were good had always been a non-existent concept in their family, and honestly, Sam was really hoping that these people were everything Dumbledore seemed to be. The prospect of supernatural beings out there that _weren't _out to rip off heads or whip up spells made with baby blood seemed like it would make his world a little less unfriendly.

A cloud of steam announced Dean's entrance from the en suite, and he emerged towel drying his hair. "Not nervous, are you, Sammy?" he asked with a smirk.

Sam shook his head, closing the book he hadn't really read after all. "Just wondering what meeting these people is gonna be like. We've never exactly hung around people like this before. Dad barely tolerates other hunters."

"'Cause most of the time, other hunters are complete wackos," Dean said sardonically as he pulled his black t-shirt over his head. "Just hope Magic the Gathering won't completely flip their shit because we're normal humans. And, uh, by the way, don't mention that we've hunted witches. Might not go over so well," he added, at the same time straightening the amulet he never took off.

Sam shrugged. "Well, they can't be so bad. I mean, they asked us to protect a guy around our age along with the demon stuff. Doesn't sound too evil."

Dean's face grew serious. "You gotta remember, Sam, magic or not, nice on the outside doesn't mean anything. They could be all peaches and cream, or they could stab us in the back soon as they're done with us. We do what Dad told us: keep our guard up and watch each other's backs, and we keep doing that until we really know who these people are."

Sam swallowed. So, just go on as always. Don't trust anyone in case they were a monster or were out to hurt you. Be prepared to stand alone against enemies on all sides.

He jerked as he was thumped on the back. He met Dean's gaze, which was light again, and his brother's wide and familiar smile seemed to send a web of cracks through Sam's gloom. "Don't worry about it. We just do our thing, and we'll kick it in the ass like always, right Sammy?"

Well, if nothing else, there was always at least one that he could rely on. Sam smiled back.

The signature knock indicating their father's return came not long after. With the ease and speed of thorough training and long practice, knives and hexbags were strapped out of sight beneath jackets and in hidden holsters. They had no guns on such short notice, but if worst came to worst, the Winchesters would make do.

"You ready, boys?" Dad asked, stashing his final dagger.

Sam and Dean locked gazes for a minute, in a way Sam felt was confirming that they were together in this no matter what, before nodding decisively in unison. Dad led them on the way out, setting a course on foot for the wizard HQ at what he said was No. 12 Grimmauld Place. As night crept over the streets of London, the three hunters seemed to melt into the shadows of the darker streets, moving unseen as a hunter should.

* * *

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Harry and his friends woke on the morning of August twentieth to an empty house, excluding the ever-skulking Kreacher, and a locked-off doorway to the kitchen. These signs could only mean one thing: there was an Order meeting in session, which in turn had to mean that the supposed demon experts would be arriving soon, if not today.

The adults still had not deigned to tell them anything about the last meeting, which Harry found to be ridiculous. It wasn't like they could keep the arrival of these strange hunters a secret, and again, how did the Order think that keeping them in the dark would protect them? How could anyone defend themselves against the unknown? Not for the first time, Harry thanked the universe at large for the Weasley twins and their inability to not break rules. If not for that, he still would have no clue about demons.

Well, he still didn't, to be honest. Hermione had limited resources for research here, and it was difficult going while trying to avoid the adults. So far, even among the Black family's extensive and rather dark book collection, demons weren't even mentioned. Ron still refused to believe that demons existed as their own species, rather than a muggle misconception of some magical creature already known out there. Hermione, despite being more open-minded, seemed to lean in the skeptical direction as well.

Harry, however, tended to go more with his gut-feeling than research. Of course, he had relied on Hermione's skills and knowledge many times to get them out of impossible situations, but his own intuition had helped guide him nearly as much. Despite the lack of evidence and the disbelief of his friends, Harry couldn't deny his own instincts. That night at the Dursleys', he'd _felt _something, something black and wretched that was distinctly _not _Voldemort or his followers, something that not even creatures like the basilisk or the dementors felt like close up. That, along with his bloody dreams and the phantom pains still lingering in his chest, told him that this threat was something new and very dangerous. Which made the stone-walling everyone was giving him all the more stupid.

That was why, after a long and boring morning during which the Order remained unseen and an extremely unresponsive Mrs. Weasley brought them breakfast, all of the young wizards and witches were shocked when Lupin emerged in the early afternoon with an unexpected announcement.

"Dumbledore would like all of you to join us. There are matters that he believes you should be aware of." Even as Lupin led them downstairs, Harry felt dubious. He doubted they would be given much more than the bare minimum of information.

Just like last time, it looked like all of the core Order members were here: Sirius and Lupin, Moody and Tonks, McGonagall and Snape, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and the many others Harry had been introduced to over his stay, such as Shacklebolt, Emmaline Vance, Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, Sturgis Podmore, and several others. The kitchen was practically overflowing. At the head of the table sat Dumbledore, eye-catching as ever with his deep purple robes and impressively long beard. Harry did his best to ignore the now familiar pang of disappointment when the old professor's eyes slid past him as if he weren't there.

"Join us, all of you," Dumbledore invited. The teens sat, the Weasleys with eagerness and Harry and Hermione with wary curiosity. Sirius shot Harry a grin, which lifted the boy's spirits a bit.

"As much as I love surprises," Dumbledore began, "I believe it best that you're aware of what will be happening today. As I'm sure you're aware, I was out of the country for a time, during which I hired some specialists to help us with these mysterious occurrences lately. They should be arriving later today."

The teens resisted throwing glances around at each other. They had deduced this much for themselves, but the Order didn't know that.

"Er, Professor?" Hermione spoke up, aiming to be as respectful as possible. "Does that mean you've found out what's been happening? What's causing all of this chaos?" If the Headmaster told them plainly what was going on, it would make searching for details much easier.

The old wizard's face gave nothing away. "We have an idea, Ms. Granger, but I would wait for an expert opinion before we become certain."

Harry twitched, jaw working impatiently. He was beyond frustrated with this song and dance. "What's your idea?" he blurted out. Hermione shot an elbow into his ribs, but he wasn't at all deterred.

"All in good time, Harry. It's best not to jump to conclusions without proof." The typical patient, worldly-wise tone didn't shift a bit. Strangely enough, for Harry, this was the last straw.

"Why? Because the thought of _demons_ would be too much for us? For me?!" he practically spat. Every pair of eyes in the room locked on him in shock, and Mrs. Weasley let out a squeak, before swinging blazing eyes to her rapidly paling twins. Harry, however, intended to have his say, so he went on. "What advantage do I gain by being kept in the dark? That worked so well last time. You know, when that _thing_ got past the 'impenetrable wards' and attacked me! Voldemort supposedly sent that thing after me, I've already faced him twice, so why can't I know what's going on?!"

Sirius had been nodding along with him. "I agree with Harry. I was never on board with keeping him in the dark from the start."

Mrs. Weasley joined the 'discussion' by whirling on Sirius, turning her wrath from Fred and George onto the younger man. "Oh no, Sirius, not this again! The reason Harry doesn't have to know is because he's fifteen years old; he shouldn't have to worry about this kind of thing!"

"Clearly, he does, Molly!" Sirius said. "And even if we don't tell him, they seem plenty capable of finding things out on their own!"

"Not after I find the last of those Expandable Ears," Mrs. Weasley growled. Fred whispered 'extendable', but another of his mother's icy glares silenced him.

"Molly, Sirius, that's enough," Dumbledore said sternly. He paused before turning to Harry. "I'm aware this must be frustrating, Harry, and perhaps you're right that certain details of Voldemort's movements should be told to you. However, concerning demons, I think it best that you leave this matter to us." After all, Dumbledore thought, the boy looked like he would have enough to worry about this year without the apparent forces of Hell on top of it. The bitter expression on Harry's face displayed his disagreement. "While we're speaking of it, though, I called for all of you to let you know of the hunters' arrival. I would ask that you be prepared and respectful," he said, glancing around at more than just the teenagers. "They are our best hope for handling this problem with the fewest casualties possible. That is all." He gave them a nod, a polite but very clear dismissal. The teens left with anticipation, and in Harry's case, dissatisfaction.

As the afternoon wore on, Harry remained in his room, trying to work past the burning temper he just couldn't seem to get rid of. Hermione and Ron had tried talking to him at first, but now they just drifted in and out of the room, trading off between being there in case he wanted to talk (yeah, right), and keeping an ear out for the arrival of the hunters.

Harry swallowed, watching dusk deepen outside the window. Sometime in the late afternoon, his chest had started hurting again, growing steadily worse as time went on. He'd debated with himself before about whether or not he should tell the others about this, but he didn't want the panicked fuss that was sure to follow. Even so, it was hard to keep it under wraps. Sometimes it would start hurting so bad Harry had to bite his lip to keep tears from slipping loose. It felt like molten wires were wrapped around his ribs and lungs. Worse still, when it got really bad, Harry could swear that he heard distant, agonized screams. He could swear he heard them even now, wailing, crying, calling out…

Harry very nearly tipped off the bed when a very loud, very real shriek ripped through the house. This once, rather than sounding tortured, sounded furious and not a little insane. It wasn't hard to recognized Sirius's mother's portrait sounding the alarm, which could only mean one thing, Harry realized.

The hunters had arrived.

* * *

_A/N: I'd like to thank __**Beawr**__,__** Wanderstar**__,__** thingofmyth**__,__** loverofharrypotter**__,__** Guest**__,__** and brooke.h16 **__for their reviews. I'd also like to give a big thanks to everyone who follows or favorites this story. Speaking of which, this story now has 109 followers. Whether you're a reviewer or a silent reader, it is an honor to know that I can entertain over one hundred people, and I hope that I continue to do so throughout the story. Hope you're excited, because next chapter is when many meetings happen! See you then :)_


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all piled out onto the landing as Mrs. Black's portrait was forcibly shut and silenced by Moody, who was first out into the hall. The teens began to descend the stairs, but the grizzled wizard pointed his wand up at them, his blue eye rolling in his head.

"Stay put! We can't be sure that these aren't dark wizards who've found us out," he rumbled as the rest of the Order poured out of the kitchen and into the narrow hallway. Fred and George rolled their eyes at Moody's paranoia, but they all stayed where they were. Each one of them wondered what kind of people would be waiting on the other side of the door.

Moody approached the door, wand raised, with Kingsley and Hestia Jones backing him up. Behind them and at the front of the rest of the gathered wizards and witches, Dumbledore watched intently.

"At the ready," Moody hissed, before reaching forward and throwing the door open.

* * *

After fourteen years of hunting the strange, unusual, and violent, John didn't often find himself fazed by much anymore, unless it was Child Protective Services knocking on his door or a lead on Mary's killer. It was a good quality in a hunter, kept him on his toes but hardly ever off-balance. It was coming in handy now. Watching a house fold itself out of its neighbors after John read off the small paper Dumbledore had left for them was weird enough, but a greener hunter would have gone ballistic at having the door opened on numerous and obvious weapons pointed at them. John was anything but green, and since Dean and Sam were behind him and shielded a bit, the greatest reaction John gave was the narrowing of his eyes and the coiling of his muscles.

There was a silent stand-off for a few moments between the hunters on the porch and the narrow hallway crammed with oddly dressed men and women, before John saw Dumbledore pushing his way to the front.

"Welcome, Mr. Winchester." As he was in their previous meetings, Dumbledore retained his polite and rather eccentric air, despite the tense and somewhat hostile attitudes of his fellows.

John said nothing, merely taking the hand Dumbledore proffered to shake. He was keeping an eye on the scruffy wizard with the fake eye, which was moving independently of the real one, because the gnarled man still had his wand pointed at them.

"You can relax, Alastor," Dumbledore said, apparently catching that particular thread of tension. "I find it highly unlikely that these are imposters. I am quite adept at keeping my activities a secret."

"Better to be safe than sorry, Albus," this Alastor replied, still glaring at John. The hunter didn't so much as flinch. "I recommend at least a little truth serum."

John's hand twitched to one of his hidden blades, at the same time making sure Dean and Sam were still semi-hidden behind him. "That's not gonna happen," John rumbled, feeling the expression he reserved for facing off against the more despicable varieties of monsters beginning to appear.

"Let's not get off to a poor start," Dumbledore said, a warning creeping into his tone. John didn't let his guard down as the suspicious wizard seemed to back off a bit, but he did allow himself to take in his surroundings a little more. The house was old, fashioned for the wealthy but in heavy disrepair. Up on the landing he spotted a few kids, around his boys' ages. He wondered if one of them was this Harry Potter that Dumbledore had mentioned.

Dumbledore's gaze cast around the other wizards and witches, who lowered their wands, before turning back to John. "Come in, please. Leaving guests on the porch is hardly befitting for any good host."

There seemed to be no immediate danger, since John could forgive caution on their part. Nodding, he stepped forward, knowing Sam and Dean were right behind him. The door shut with a loud clap. For now, there was no turning back.

The other wizards were still eyeing him with wariness, but some of their attention had been diverted now that Dean and Sam were in full view. Their reactions seemed to be mixed between confusion and dismissal.

"Why don't we all get acquainted over a nice cup of tea, or perhaps coffee?" Dumbledore proposed, voice cheery once more in spite of the awkward tension. The small crowd parted before him as he headed for the doorway at the end of the hall.

John couldn't help but agree with Dean's muttered 'Jesus'. This job was off to a swimming start, he thought dryly. Making sure that the wizards started moving first, John headed after Dumbledore.

That is, until a redheaded woman a little older than him, though height-wise she didn't even reach his shoulder, caught him lightly by the sleeve. Despite his height and rugged appearance, the woman didn't flinch or show any sign of intimidation when he met her eyes. John had to admire that. "Your boys are welcome to wait upstairs with the other children while we go about business," she offered, not unkindly.

Dammit all. Dumbledore didn't seem to have let them in on a certain detail. He shot a glance at his sons; Dean looked plain offended while Sam seemed to be waiting for the bomb to drop. John turned back to the woman. "That won't be necessary. They'll need to know what's going on if they're going to work this job with me."

The woman's mouth popped open for a moment, and she seemed at a loss for words. Several other heads turned in his direction, eyes wide.

"What?!" cried a voice from above. John identified it as the youngest male redhead, who looked incredulous and a bit angry.

His voice stayed steady. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten this reaction to his kids being hunters at their ages. "My sons are trained for this type of situation. They're more than capable."

The woman's eyes flicked from him to his boys, particularly Sam. The kid might be fourteen, but he'd yet to hit a good growth spurt, so he looked closer to twelve. Judging from the four fiery-headed kids upstairs, this woman was a mother herself, and he could tell that a furious maternal explosion was building up. He was bracing himself before Dumbledore's voice floated up from down the staircase he'd descended. "We'll have plenty of time to discuss once we're all gathered and comfortable. The hallway isn't ideal, unless we want to wake dear Mrs. Black again."

John needed no further prompting. Sliding past, he led his family past the remaining wizards and followed after their employer. Oh yeah, they were off to a great start.

* * *

Sirius kept his sharp eyes locked on the hunters as everyone settled. These were the ones they were supposed to entrust their safety to, entrust Harry's safety to. He could hardly believe it. They were relying on a muggle man and his two children, one of whom barely looked Ginny Weasley's age. Admittedly, they weren't like any muggles he'd met before. The father was tall and powerfully built, and his elder son was long and wiry. They all gave off a presence of experience and seriousness. Even so, Sirius was not at all reassured in this plan of Dumbledore's.

Looking around, he could tell that most of the Order's appraisals were not much better. Molly looked livid, her glare focused unwaveringly on the father who claimed to be involving his children in this dangerous mission. Arthur was calmer, but he seemed uncomfortable with this turn of events. Moody no doubt had his wand aimed beneath the tabletop. Most of the others waited doubtfully for some sign that these hunters would be of any help.

"Everyone," Dumbledore said, "let me officially introduce John Winchester, as well as his sons Dean and Sam. They will be assisting us with this demon problem."

To say the following silence was uncomfortable was like saying Snape had something of an unpleasant disposition. The Order around Sirius seemed to be trying to wrap their heads around these hunters. The hunters stayed tight-knit, as if ready to fight their way out if necessary.

It was Lupin that first attempted to break the silence. "You have our thanks for coming. We've lost too many good people already." As was typical of good old Moony, his voice was calm and sincere.

Sirius caught the slight relaxing in the shoulders of the three Winchesters. John's face, while still alert, grew sympathetic. "That's the kind of thing we try to stop."

"And what _exactly_ is it that you try to stop?" Snape's derisive tone could be picked out in a massive crowd, and it sent their guests right back into suspicion. "It seems unusual to me that _muggles_ would make a job of dealing with such threats." Sirius might have his doubts about these hunters, but he was almost willing to jump to their defense if it meant shutting Snape up.

The elder Winchester boy beat him to it, though. "No, you're right, we just jump in front of monsters for a weekend hobby." His voice dripped disdain, and he matched the potions professor's glare with ease. Sirius had to give the boy points for that at least.

"And it's not really a job," the younger boy, Sam, added. "It's just what we do. Most non-magic people don't know about this stuff, so those of us who do have to make sure innocent people don't get hurt." Merlin, the boy sounded so young, yet at the same time very mature.

Tonks, who seemed overall rather excited about these hunters' presences, chimed in. "That's the thing; our societies try to keep those kinds of things away from muggles. How exactly did you find out about this stuff and start hunting?"

It was subtle, but Sirius could recognize the dark cloud that seemed to descend upon the hunters in the slight shifting of young Sam's feet and the brief eye contact Dean made with the floor. John gave no physical sign, but his voice was just a degree cooler when he replied. "The supernatural tends to creep up on you. Once it hits you, it's hard not to get into the hunting life." He turned to Dumbledore. "We don't mean to be rude, but we prefer getting right down to business."

Dumbledore nodded. "That's probably for the best. Sturgis, why don't you give your account first?"

The middle-aged wizard eyed the hunters unsurely before speaking his piece. "Annie McKinnon was the first we noticed to go missing, late June thereabouts. She was a contact we had in the wizard newspaper, The Daily Prophet, been trying to temper the slander aimed at the ol' Headmaster here. We put up a search for her, and I found her a week later. Poor girl 'ad been left in a ditch jus' outside Great Chesterford, all scraped up and bruised and lookin' she been dead for a while. No idea what she would be doin' out there. She was the first. Allies of ours all over wizarding England and Scotland have been turning up just the same."

Sirius turned back to look at the Winchesters. The boys were exchanging knowing looks, seeming not at all perturbed by Podmore's account. John Winchester's gaze remained fixed on Podmore, and it only shifted when another of the Order, Dedalus Diggle, began to talk about unicorns and pygmies going wild. He asked a few questions, always sharp and without explanation for some of their odd natures, and then he and his sons were right back to listening intently.

Although Sirius was far from trusting these hunters, as he saw them beginning to work, a part of him thought that maybe Dumbledore wasn't so mad after all.

* * *

Dean was weighing this case a fifty-fifty on a scale of anticipation versus regret. He was still waiting to see which way it would tip.

Since stepping through the doorway of this weird-ass house, Dean felt severely out of his comfort zone, and not just because of the magic thing. As a hunter, it was part of the job to face skepticism or flat-out disbelief that resulted in a phone call to the local authorities. They'd had to hightail it out of more than a few towns for that reason. Here, though, the disbelief had an extra sting in it. They looked at Dad like he was a non-threat, as if he were beneath them somehow. He and Sam hardly seemed to register on their radars at all, expect for the ginger woman. _She_ looked at Dad like she couldn't wait to take a swing at him, and she kept throwing piteous, concerned glances his and Sam's way. Between that and that one slimy douche in all black, the whole thing was making Dean's blood boil. He would have spoken up sooner, but Dad always stopped him with subtle gestures that he memorized long ago as meaning 'shut up, Dean, and pay attention.'

In unfamiliar territory, no matter how pissed he was, Dean would follow Dad's lead. He was relieved when Dad steered the conversation into getting details about the job. The last thing they needed was for these people to be poking at the subject of Mom's death. Dean was at full attention now, listening to the descriptions of freak storms, disappearances, and bizarrely named magic animals going apeshit. Dean knew it was demons from the first guy's story, that wasn't hard to figure out, but the questions of where they were concentrating and where they might have come from were the ones Dad seemed to be trying to answer.

So far, nothing seemed particularly helpful in pointing them in the right direction. The omens were happening all over the place, and there didn't seem to be any spread pattern leading from a starting point. Seeing as wizards knew nothing of demons, they couldn't ask about any Devil's Gates that might be planted around Britain, and none of them had actually spotted a demon yet. Dean could see Dad getting more frustrated as time went on.

When it finally looked like they'd finished, Dad scrubbed a hand over his stubbled face, as he usually did when working out a problem. He was silent for several minutes before speaking. "The biggest clue we have seems to be Harry Potter. He's the only one alive that's actually encountered the demon threat, even though it was indirectly."

"What do you mean by indirectly?" The big wizard, who Dean believed was called Shaq Boat or something, asked. "I thought it was confirmed that a demon had attacked him."

"Not personally," Dad said. "From the signs he described to you, I'll bet there was a demon nearby, but the thing that actually hurt him was a hellhound."

"A what?" This seemed to be the general response.

Dean couldn't quite catch his tongue in time. "Hell's bitches," he said simply. From the looks he got, including the reproving one from Dad, he felt the immediate need to amend that statement. "Hell's hunting dogs. The demon nearby was probably its handler, sent it after the Potter kid." Dad's glare let up a bit.

"Dean's right," Dad continued. "Everything matches up: the invisibility, the fact that none of the neighbors heard anything, the growling. This might present another problem."

"Shocking," Dean heard the thin, long-haired guy who'd been giving them a bit of a stink-eye throughout the meeting mutter.

Dad's gaze switched in the mumbler's direction. "Once hellhounds get on a scent, they never lose it, and since these are undying creatures, I mean that literally. Dumbledore mentioned that Harry Potter would probably need protection this year, but with hellhounds involved, that's a certainty now," he said.

The gaunt man's eyes narrowed, and Dean could see confrontation coming from a mile away, even before the guy opened his mouth. "From you? Whatever Dumbledore says, we don't know you or what you're capable of doing. I'm sorry, but I'm not ready to trust you and your _children _with my godson's life!"

"Sirius," Dumbledore said warningly.

Oh, Dean thought, that explained things a little. He didn't appreciate the guy's attitude, but if he had to trust a stranger with Sammy, he'd probably be even less enthusiastic.

Dad frowned even more deeply. "Is it really because you don't know us, or because we don't have magic?" he asked icily.

The guy – Sirius, he remembered – paused, looking a little guilty. "For both reasons," he admitted. "There's also the fact that you're bringing teenagers into this fight. If this was their war it would be a different matter, but they don't know this world and I don't trust their ability to keep themselves or anyone else safe. Without magic it's even more of a risk."

Dean glared, and he could sense Sam was too. He wanted so badly to step forward and tell this guy just what his family was capable of, what they'd conquered. The skepticism and the demeaning way they viewed them because they didn't have the fucking booga-booga Moon Prism power sent tremors of anger through his body. But Dad was the leader here. No matter what he thought, Dean would follow his lead.

Dad didn't reply. He sat back and surveyed the room, and Dean copied him, trying to calm himself down. He took in all the unfamiliar faces that were looking at their family with doubt, mistrust, and even a little contempt. There were a few that were curious and open, but they were a minority. It didn't take Dean long to spot the problem, and it probably took even less time for Sam. If these people didn't trust them to do their job, there would have been no point in coming here.

It looked like Dad wasn't going to tolerate that, at least not for tonight. His dark stare turned on Sirius again. He leaned forward, demanding attention in a way that Dean had learned never to ignore, or God save his soul. He was in full Commanding Officer mode now.

Dad's eyes swept around the gathered wizards. "I want to make one thing perfectly clear," he growled. "You asked for our help, but you doubt our abilities. If this is going to work on any level, I want to get this straight, the one thing all of you need to understand. Demons are nothing to be taken lightly, even if you have magic. As far as we know, there's no way to kill them. They can possess any unprotected person they want, and they have powers of their own. Most important, they're not human. They won't be bought with money or swayed by sympathy or guilt. Their sole reason for existing is to cause suffering, and they do it knowingly and gladly, probably in the most gruesome ways they can manage. No amount of magic, hoodoo, or whatever the hell you've got is going to hold up if you don't know your opponent. Whatever you believe, I _and_ my sons know these things; we've fought them and beat them. If you want the knowledge to fight these things, you have to trust our experience. If you can't do that, we'll leave tonight and you're on your own."

If Dad had been the type, Dean would have reached out for a fist bump following that little ultimatum. Dad, however, was as far as he could be from the type, so Dean simply allowed himself the tiniest smirk as the room fell silent again.

Sirius seemed to stew for a bit before grunting and sitting back. It wasn't a complete victory, but now the guy knew that butting heads with John Winchester wouldn't get him very far. The other wizards and witches only seemed slightly less guarded against them. Only Dumbledore was different, Dean noticed. When Dean met his eyes, he caught that twinkle that was so obvious in the old man's gaze, which seemed pretty impressed.

The old wizard stood, face neutral. "I understand that this is an unusual situation for us all, and no doubt it will take some time to adjust. For now, it's growing late, and I'm sure our hunters are tired after their long trip. Perhaps letting things rest for the night is the best idea." Dumbledore turned fully to Dean and Sam. "If it's all right with you, you can be shown to your rooms. I have a few minor details to discuss with your father, but he shouldn't be far behind you," he said.

Dean and Sam looked to Dad for instructions. Things weren't exactly warm and fuzzy between themselves and the wizards, but there didn't seem to be any hovering threat of death from any of them.

Dad did another quick sweep of the room, making the final and vital assessment. After a moment, he nodded, giving them the all clear.

Dean caught Sam's eye as the redheaded woman stood up, still looking pretty pissed. As she led them back towards the stairs, Sam fell back while Dean took the lead, the both of them sparing one last glance back at the tense room behind them.

_"__Winchesters are the last people to back out of a job," _Dean thought grimly as they ascended the stairwell, _"but if this little trust issue doesn't get sorted out soon, we're all in deep shit."_

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so Harry and the gang were also supposed to be in this chapter, but it was so difficult to get right and took so long, that it'll have to wait until the next update. You can thank Thingofmyth for me striving to get this update out today; her PMs are just the kick in the pants I need sometimes. _

_Also, if anyone feels like I'm mistreating a character, or going OOC, let me know. I'm trying to get a good balance with everyone, but if I slip, don't hesitate to tell me. I love all these guys and I don't want to be misrepresenting them. _

_Thanks to everyone who followed or favorite-d, and special thanks as always to the reviewers: __**Deathbistereo95, A-human-I-hope, planetoffire, Wanderstar, PaperKayak, loverofharrypotter, He-Who-Shall-Live, thingofmyth, FanFreader, esperanza100, AndSoIWrite, Alatar Maia, **__and__** ThePaleMongrel.**_


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